Power Play
by lis9
Summary: Hermione is well aware of Professor Snape's control of his Potions classroom. But a chance encounter will lead her to seek her own form of control over her professor. Counterpart to my story, Master and Commander.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All characters borrowed from J.K. Rowling.

My first submission...please let me know what you think!

Hermione rolled over in her bed, and then rolled over again, becoming thoroughly entangled in the sheets. Sighing with frustration, she kicked her coverings to the foot of the bed and lay still on her back. She listed to the even breathing of her sleeping roommates and wished she could do the same.

_Why can't I sleep? _Hermione wondered. It had been a long day, and she was tired, that much was certain. Double Transfiguration, followed by Double Potions, and finally Astronomy made for a full, difficult day. With so few students in Transfiguration at the NEWT level, Professor McGonagall was able to focus her attention more fully upon each student individually, and accordingly, she assigned a greater amount of work. Astronomy was as demanding as ever, and, as it came at the end of such a long day, it left her exhausted by the time she left the tower at 2 a.m. each week.

And then there was Potions. Turning again onto her stomach, Hermione ruminated over her feelings about the class. She hadn't been thrilled about the idea of taking NEWT-level Potions, initially. It was one of the most challenging courses offered to seventh-years, after all.

But it had been more than just the complexity of the course work that had made her hesitate. When had she ever been stopped by the thought of difficult school work? No, Hermione wasn't afraid of mountains of homework or elaborate, time-consuming potions. It was Professor Snape that gave her pause.

Hermione's stomach lurched as his image floated to the forefront of her mind. Of course, nearly all the students at Hogwarts, Slytherins included, were afraid of Snape. And for good reason – he was intimidating and ruthless, ceaselessly criticizing students' work, doling out abysmal grades, and assigning cruel punishments for the most banal infractions.

And then there was the not-so-small fact that he was, at one time, a Death Eater. While everyone knew, Hermione more than anyone, that Snape had converted to the right side, and acted as a spy for the Order, the fact that he was able to fool Voldemort for so long and not betray his true allegiance spoke volumes about his nature. Why anyone would want to spend time in the company of such a man, even as a student, remained a mystery.

_And yet_, Hermione thought to herself, _there's something…else..._ She recalled a day during her sixth year, a day that had awoken something inside of her, causing her both to consider not taking NEWT-level Potions, and to look forward to the class more than any other at the same time.

She had been leaving the library one afternoon, her bag overstuffed, her arms filled with books. She wanted to drop some of the books off in the Gryffindor common room before class but didn't want to be late. As she rushed out the door and into the drafty corridor, she slammed into someone moving in the opposite direction. Hermione lost her balance and the books tumbled from her arms. But just before she hit the floor, she felt strong arms catch her around her waist and put her back on her feet.

Steadying herself, Hermione began apologizing profusely for being so distracted. But as she lifted her eyes, she found herself looking into the face of Professor Snape, and she stopped mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open.

Snape was looking back at her, his dark eyes boring into her own. It was then that she realized Snape's hand was still resting on her waist, and his long body was still pressed against her side.

Snape looked at Hermione for a moment longer, then took a step back and removed his hand from her waist. The entire side of her body felt as though she had been branded and her palms had become sweaty. Her breathing had become shallow and she was finding it difficult to think clearly as Snape looked at her. What was happening?

Hermione continued to meet Snape's gaze, unable to look away. After what felt like an eternity, at last, he spoke.

"Perhaps you should look where you are going, Miss Granger," he said murmured silkily, and Hermione felt as though she had been punched in the stomach. He was still looking at her, now taking all of her in – her face, her hair, her body. She suddenly felt as though she was completely naked in front of him and it took her breath away. She watched as his eyes traveled up and down her robe-clad body and felt a thrill of fear run up her spine.

Recovering, Hermione finally replied in a near-whisper, "Yes, Professor."

At Hermione's words, Snape's eyes snapped back to hers for an instant, his expression inscrutable; then he turned on his heel and strode down the hall, his robes billowing behind him. Hermione stood, rooted to the spot, until he had turned the corner. When he was at last out of sight, Hermione finally came back to herself, realizing that she was standing in the hallway with a dozen books strewn about her.

As she knelt down to pick up the books, Hermione thought to herself, _What in the world just happened?_ She felt dazed, groggy.

For the remainder of the term, Hermione avoided Snape, ensuring that he was out of her line of sight in the Great Hall and avoiding eye contact during class. Not that it was difficult. Snape gave no indication that there had been any interaction between them in the corridor that day. Hermione had almost put the incident out of her mind when, on the last day class before the summer break, she looked up from her cauldron to find his dark eyes upon her once again.

Hermione was unable to look away. The heat of his gaze was almost unbearable and she suddenly felt an inexplicable urge to…what? Kiss him? Or something more? She was suddenly aware that she was becoming aroused and the realization made her breath quicken. Her cheeks became flushed and she felt a growing dampness between her legs.

Just as she felt that she couldn't take it any longer, that something needed to happen, something did. A cauldron on the other side of the room let out a bang and then emitted a huge cloud of yellow smoke. Laughter filled the room as several Slytherins emerged from the cloud, coughing and covered in potion. Hermione started at the loud noise and turned her head towards the disorder; by the time she returned her gaze to the front of the room, Snape's attention had shifted towards the mess.

Hermione was both grateful for and disappointed by the reprieve the accident afforded her. But then…what was she really expecting would have happened? It was ridiculous to imagine anything…but the way he was looking at her...it was bewildering.

During the summer break, Hermione deliberated over whether or not to take Potions the following year, and her decision changed almost daily. On the one hand, she wanted Snape to continue looking at her. It turned her on just to think of his smoldering eyes on her body. But on the other hand, it was wrong and she knew it. Professor Snape was her teacher and it was highly inappropriate for anything, even such glances, to take place between them. And besides, what was the point? It only served to distract her, something she could not afford. She knew nothing further could or would happen.

Toward the end of the summer, Hermione felt certain that not taking the class was the right thing to do. But she knew that such a move would have severe consequences, and would result in her being precluded from numerous careers, including Auror training. How could she give up such options? Her whole future depended on it. But taking Potions meant facing Snape again. And how could she, without thinking of everything his eyes implied?

Finally, the first morning of classes was upon her, and Hermione knew that she had to make up her mind. As Professor McGonagall approached her, Harry, and Ron at the Gryffindor table after breakfast, Hermione made her decision.

"Ah, Miss Granger" said Professor McGonagall briskly, "I assume you will be continuing with last year's NEWT schedule?" she queried, as she shuffled through the stack of parchment schedules in her hand.

"Actually," answered Hermione, quietly, "I'll be taking all but Potions, Professor." Harry and Ron looked up from their breakfasts at her words, and Professor McGonagall glanced at her sharply.

"But Miss Granger, if I am not mistaken, you achieved an 'O' in Potions during your sixth year, did you not?" Hermione nodded her affirmation. "Then I presume that you wish to carry on with your studies," said Professor McGonagall in a firm tone, as though this settled the matter.

"No, Professor, I'd like to drop Potions from my schedule," Hermione answered again, but this time with less conviction.

"Hermione, have you gone mad? Of course you're taking Potions…you want to be an Auror, don't you?" asked Harry incredulously, while Ron nodded his head in concurrence.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Potter is quite correct. A NEWT in Potions is a prerequisite for a number of magical careers, many in which you have expressed an interest to me previously. What reason could you possibly have for not continuing with Potions at this late stage?" asked the Professor, and Hermione did not miss the impatience in her tone.

Hermione looked from Professor McGonagall to Harry to Ron, and then glanced quickly up at the staff table. Snape was sitting in his usual seat, his dark eyes on her. He appeared to be watching her exchange with Professor McGonagall with interest. Hermione's pulse quickened; she hadn't seen him since the last day of class the year before.

Could she return to his class? Would she be able to concentrate and learn the necessary material, or would she be distracted all year? It occurred to her that perhaps she wanted to be distracted, but she shoved that thought to the back of her mind.

She would have to take Potions. And, she reasoned with herself, taking the class, even if distracted, was better than not taking it and learning nothing. She would just have to work hard and keep her head down.

She realized that Professor McGonagall was waiting for her answer and Hermione said briskly, "I will continue last year's schedule, Professor, including Potions. Of course." She smiled a business-like smile at Professor McGonagall, who looked back at Hermione with a confused look. Finally, Professor McGonagall shook her head slightly, as though she had given up trying to decipher Hermione's actions, handed her the new schedule, and moved on to Ron.

Hermione surveyed her schedule and remained quiet through the remainder of breakfast. Looking up at the head table again, she realized that Snape had left the hall. She was surprised to find that she was disappointed by his absence. She had hoped to find him looking at her again.

The term began and Hermione found that she had little time to think about Snape during the day. Her classes were more difficult than she had imagined they would be, and the work load was immense. Even when she was in Potions, she found that she was rarely distracted, as her work demanded her full attention. Snape appeared to be his normal self, barking orders at the class and taking house points from Gryffindor at every opportunity. He seemed barely to spare a thought for Hermione, even as a student.

During the day, Hermione was grateful for Snape's apparent lack of interest. But at night, after she had collapsed into bed, exhausted from a long day of classes and even longer evening of studying, her mind would wander back to Snape, and the way he had looked at her before. Just the mere memory of his eyes coursing down her body and the recollection of his touch on her waist, his body pressed against hers, was enough to arouse her. Lying in her four-poster bed with the red velvet curtains drawn, she would wait at night until her roommates were sleeping. Once she heard their soft breathing, she would let her imagination run wild, fantasizing about Snape, his hands on her body and his mouth on hers.

During her fantasies, Hermione would run her hands over her aching body, wishing they were Snape's. And when she would come, moaning, she would imagine he was on top of her, inside of her.

Occasionally, it would surprise her to remember that it was Snape she was fantasizing about, keeping in mind her detestation of him as a child. Even now, he angered her frequently in class, directing snide comments to students, or giving unwarranted detentions. But after a while, she came to realize that part of her attraction to Snape was his forcefulness and his dominating presence.

Snape was a disciplined Potions Master, and held his students, as well as himself, to an exacting standard. He was thorough, never taking on a task he could not complete and never jumping into anything half-heartedly. Hermione imagined that Snape wouldn't be able to help but apply his disciplined and controlled standards in the bedroom as well. Hermione felt certain that Snape would ensure she would be satisfied, and this thought, as much as any other, attracted her to her Professor.

Hermione was thoroughly aroused by her Professor's dominating presence. But more than that, she felt a need to prove herself to him. Not just through her studies. The dark looks that he trained upon her from time to time assured her that he was in control. The way in which he could take her breath away just by looking both turned her on and annoyed her. She was not weak; she could handle anything he could dish out. And the more she contemplated his behavior each night in her bed, the more she felt the need to assert some control over the situation.

One day, late in the fall, Hermione found herself the last student in her Potions classroom at the end of class, alone with Snape. She continued to clean up her work station and pack her books into her bag, however; she had done so well at not allowing herself to be distracted during the day and she wouldn't allow that to change now. She threw her bag over her shoulder and began to head towards the door. Halfway there, however, she dared a peek toward the front of the room. Snape was watching her.

Hermione's step faltered for a moment and Snape took advantage of her hesitation.

"I trust you'll have a…pleasant…evening, Miss Granger," he said smoothly, his dark eyes once again piercing her own. Hermione's heart skipped a beat. What did he mean? It was still morning. He couldn't possibly be referring to what Hermione did in bed at night…could he? It occurred to her all at once that Snape was an accomplished Legilimens. Was it possible? As Hermione returned the Professor's gaze, she was sure that Snape knew exactly what she did each night, and exactly of whom she was thinking as she did it. And the fact that he knew turned her on.

Hermione fought the urge to move closer to Snape. Had he been within arm's reach, she knew she wouldn't have been able to resist him. But she began to move towards the door again, answering him with a small smile, "Oh, no doubt, Professor Snape, it will be a very pleasurable evening." Snape's eyes widened and his mouth opened a little, apparently shocked at Hermione's response. Clearly, he had not expected her to acknowledge the not-so-hidden meaning in his remark.

And so Hermione found herself unable to sleep that evening, twisting and turning in bed. Most evenings, simply touching herself was enough. As she would run her hands over her hard nipples, and rub her swollen clit, she would imagine herself with Snape, imagine his hands and his cock. And when she finally came, she would feel peaceful and tired, able to sleep.

Tonight was different. She had come that night, twice, imagining Snape, and it wasn't enough. She wanted more. Her brief conversation earlier that day was an invitation, a challenge to do more than merely imagine him, more than merely picture his body on hers. She wanted more. And suddenly, she knew what she had to do.

Opening her curtains, Hermione silently slipped out of bed and padded across the cold floor to the dormitory door. Slipping it open, she ran quietly down the steps to the common room and crossed to the boys' dormitory stairs. Hermione stole quickly up the steps until she reached the top and stood before the door bearing a sign that read _Seventh Years_.

Hermione grasped the door handle and pushed the door open hesitantly. Standing on the threshold, she listened carefully, trying to discern if everyone was sleeping. From where she stood, she could hear the obvious snores of Ron, along with the quieter breathing of several other boys. Not wasting any time, she crossed the room until she stood before Harry's bed. His curtains, along with those of Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean, were closed.

Hermione knelt down quietly before Harry's trunk at the foot of his bed. Opening the lid as quietly as she could, she began to sift through its contents, trying desperately not to make any noise. She wasn't sure she could explain to Harry what she was doing if he awoke. Finally, her hand closed on the parchment she was seeking. Withdrawing her hand from the chest, she looked down and instantly recognized the blank Marauders' Map. Hermione placed the map on the floor and thrust her hand into the trunk once more. Sorting through Harry's clothes without the benefit of sight, she at long last felt the silky, slithery fabric of the Invisibility Cloak.

With the cloak and map in hand, Hermione closed Harry's trunk with a silent sigh of relief and stood to exit the room. Just as she turned to head toward the door, however, she heard a noise that made her stop. Straining her ears to listen, Hermione stood stock still. The noise sounded again, like a little gasp…then the rustle of fabric. It was coming from Harry's bed. Hermione was intrigued. Was someone else having the kind of night she was, she wondered?

Slipping closer to the corner of his bed, Hermione threw the Invisibility Cloak over herself, just in case. Taking the side of one bed hanging in her hand, she moved it aside a fraction of an inch and looked inside.

Harry lay on his back with his eyes closed. He wore a t-shirt that was drenched in sweat. His black hair was plastered to his forehead and his glasses were off. His blankets were shoved to the bottom of the bed and his underwear was pushed low around his hips. Harry's left hand gripped the bottom sheet on the bed, while his right hand was wrapped around his large, hard cock. Hermione watched, fascinated, as he pumped his cock repeatedly, and his breathing became more labored. He rolled his head back and forth on the pillow and began to moan slightly as the pace of his stroking became more intense. Finally, Harry emitted a low groan, and shot his load onto his hand and leg.

Hermione was so turned on, she could hardly stand it. Without realizing it, while she observed Harry she had begun to idly stroke her breasts. Not that she was particularly attracted to Harry; he was her friend. But watching him come made her think of the reason she had stolen into his room in the first place and she became more focused on the task at hand. Leaving the cloak in place, Hermione returned to the common room, where she pulled out the map. Tapping it with her wand, she whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Smirking at the truth of the statement, she watched as the layout of the castle was revealed before her. Eagerly, she pulled the map closer to her face in the dimness of the common room and searched for her goal. Finally, she located him: Severus Snape was in the teacher's lounge.

Hermione cursed at her bad luck. If he was in the teacher's lounge at this late hour, then he was on hall duty for the evening. She felt a crushing disappointment at the turn of events. Hermione sighed and resigned herself to returning to her bed and the remainder of her sleepless night. She slipped back up the girls' dormitory steps and entered her room. Lavender and Parvati were still sleeping, never having become aware that she had left. She quickly whispered, "Mischief managed," as she tapped the map and slipped it and the cloak into her trunk.

Hermione climbed back into bed and pulled her curtains once again. Lying back on her pillow, she sighed, imagining what she was planning to do. Her hands slipped down her sides and she pulled the hem of her nightgown up and over her head. She ran her fingers over her stomach and up over her breasts, feeling her nipples harden. Rubbing them lightly, she thought of Harry stroking his cock. What did Snape's look like, she wondered?

Imagining his cock turned her on and she felt herself growing hot and wet. While her left hand continued playing with her nipple, her right slid back down her body to her thighs and over to her mound. Spreading her legs, she slipped her fingers into her pussy and rubbed her wetness over her clit. She imagined sliding her lips over Snape's cock, imagined his cock sliding into her tight pussy.

Hermione rubbed her clit harder and moaned quietly. She slipped two fingers into herself and began to pump them in and out. She pushed her index finger in as far as she could, seeking that patch, that ultra-sensitive spot. Finding it, she gasped as her hips bucked against her hand. She quickly grabbed her nightgown and shoved it into her mouth to stifle her moans as she got closer and closer to the edge. Finally, as she imagined Snape coming in her, she came herself, hard, her pussy soaking her hand. Feeling exhausted, but somewhat lonely, she finally fell asleep.

The next day, Hermione was unfocused and distracted the entire day. She zoned out of her classes and barely said two words to Harry and Ron during their meals. Her mind was almost entirely on what she had planned for that evening. At dinner, she looked at the staff table to find Snape's eyes on her once again. She looked back openly until he looked away.

In the common room that evening, Hermione surrounded herself by a pile of books and attempted to do some work, ignoring everyone else. She was disappointed in her concentration that day and was determined to make up for it. For hours, she worked steadily, until the common room was nearly empty. Finally, the last straggler went up to bed and Hermione was left alone.

She cleaned up her books and returned to her dormitory quietly. As she had hoped, her roommates had gone to bed. Hermione pulled the map and cloak from her trunk and returned to the common room. As she had suspected, Harry had not missed them. She activated the map once again and searched for the name. There he was, in his dungeon classroom. Just as she had hoped. Suddenly, Hermione's heart was racing and her head felt light. But she ignored the butterflies in her stomach and stepped through the portrait hole.

The Fat Lady was not amused to be roused from her sleep and snapped angrily to Hermione, "And just where do you think you're going at this hour, missy?" Hermione didn't stop walking but turned her head back and replied, "To get some."

The Fat Lady appeared to be stunned into silence for once, and Hermione congratulated herself on such a feat. But then, as she reached the end of the hall, she heard the Fat Lady call out, "I want all the sordid details later!" Hermione rolled her eyes.

As she stepped around the corner, Hermione threw the cloak over her head and pulled out the map once again. Her path to the dungeons appeared to be clear. Walking quickly, she descended staircase after staircase. Her heart seemed to beat faster with every step. Periodically, she checked the map for Peeves or professors on hall duty, and sooner than she anticipated, she had arrived at the door to Snape's classroom.

She knew from the map that he was alone inside. She stood before his door and knew that this was her last chance to turn back. But then she called to mind her Gryffindor bravery, opened the door, and stepped inside.

Snape sat at his desk at the front of the room, grading essays. He looked as he never did during the day: slightly unkempt and relaxed, with his robe open. His face was serious with concentration, but as he heard the door open and no one appeared to enter, he became tense and, in an instant, he was on his feet with his wand pointed at the door.

"Show yourself," he commanded, and Hermione shivered at the forcefulness of his words. She could think of no option but to obey and she allowed the cloak to slip off her shoulders. Snape's mouth opened slightly in shock at the sight of her, but he recovered himself quickly.

"Miss Granger," he said, lowering his wand and retaking his seat at the desk. He picked up his quill as though he were going to return to his work. "What are you doing out of bed at this time of night? It is past curfew. You of all people should know that you are breaking the rules."

Hermione took a few small steps closer to his desk and said innocently, "I know Professor, I'm sorry. Are you going to punish me?"

Snape froze at Hermione's words and stared at the parchment in front of him for a moment. Hermione began again to move closer to the desk and Snape looked up at her once again. "Miss Granger, you should not be here. It is highly inappropriate. I suggest that you return to your dormitory at once."

But Hermione continued walking toward him, undaunted. The cloak slipped from her grasp and she began to unfasten her robe, her eyes on Snape's face the whole time. Snape, however, watched only her fingers working across the fabric, and did not raise his eyes to her face.

Hermione slipped her robe off and dropped it to the floor, revealing her school uniform beneath. She was now next to desk, only feet from her professor. "Miss Granger," Snape began, with exasperation in his voice, as he rose from his chair, as though to collect Hermione's robe and cover her with it. But Hermione acted quickly. Thinking, _Incarcerous_, she pointed her wand at him and he was suddenly bound to the chair with magical ropes. Snape was speechless; he truly looked dumbfounded by this turn of events. He struggled uselessly against his bonds; his wand was sitting on his desk, out of reach.

"Look at me, Professor." Almost unwillingly, Snape raised his eyes to meet Hermione's. His dark eyes were menacing and Hermione somewhat feared what would happen if he were to escape. But she met his gaze and felt the heat of his look sear into her. She wanted him and she knew he wanted her.

Hermione reached up and loosened her tie. As she began to unbutton her shirt, Snape found his voice and yelled at her in frustration, "Miss Granger! Let me go at once. This is wrong." But Hermione continued undoing the buttons of her shirt, replying, "Oh, I know it's wrong, Professor. I know I'm being bad. That's why I need your discipline." Her shirt was on the floor now.

Even as she said the words, she knew it wasn't what she was seeking. She didn't want his discipline, she wanted to discipline _him. _It was his turn to bend to the will of another.

"You know what I want, Professor. You know exactly what I do at night. I think of you and I touch myself. But it's not enough anymore, the thought of you is not enough. I need you, Professor."

Hermione undid the buttons of her skirt and it fell to the floor. She stepped out of it and moved closer to Snape. His robe was still open and she slid both hands up over his shirt, feeling his chest beneath. It was muscular and firm, and she dug her nails in slightly, liking the way it felt.

Hermione placed a knee next to Snape's thigh and climbed onto his chair, straddling him. Instantly, she could feel that he was aroused, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. She lowered herself slightly, until the wet crotch of her panties was just touching the bulge in his pants. Snape groaned and she ground herself against him.

"You know you want this," she said breathlessly, looking in his eyes. She parted her lips and licked them, just inches from his mouth. "Professor," she said again, her lips nearly touching his, "I want to fuck you."

Hermione brought her lips to his and she instantly felt his tongue search for hers. As their kiss deepened, she continued grinding against his hard cock, rhythmically. Her hands continued their exploration of his chest, and she moaned as his lips left hers and his tongue began exploring below her ear and along her throat. Hermione had just begun to contemplate freeing her captive, wanting to feel his hands on her, when there was a knock at the classroom door.

Hermione and Snape both froze, looking at one another. And then Hermione began to move quickly. "Accio clothes! Accio Cloak!" she whispered and her clothing and the Invisibility Cloak sailed into her outstretched hand. She quickly ducked under Snape's desk. Snape whispered to her under the desk frantically, "Release me, now! Release me!" but Hermione only grinned evilly at him, as the classroom door opened.

From beneath the desk, Hermione heard Snape clear his throat and she imagined him trying to appear nonchalant. "What do you want?" he snapped to the new visitor. "I've finished my detention, Professor," came the unmistakable drawl of Draco Malfoy. Hermione imagined he must have done something pretty bad to get a detention from Professor Snape. She listened for a moment as Snape asked him questions about the research he had performed in the library all evening as punishment, but quickly became bored. She didn't come to Snape's classroom tonight to learn. Well, not about Potions, anyway.

Recognizing the moment for the opportunity that it was, Hermione turned toward Snape's body under the desk and slid her hands up his legs. She felt him stiffen, but his voice did not betray anything unusual. Reaching the bulge in his pants, she gently massaged it with her hand and then began to undo his fly. When his pants were open, she slipped her hand into the waist of his underwear and pulled out his rock-hard cock.

Snape was a fair size, and thicker than she had expected. As her fingers touched his cock, she heard him let out a strangled sigh. She ran her fingers up and down its length lightly, until she felt Snape shiver. She ran a single finger around the tip and then gripped his base loosely. Hermione brought her mouth close to his cock, until she was sure he could feel her breath on his head. She felt his squirming, thrusting his hips slightly, trying to reach her mouth.

Hermione continued to breathe lightly Snape's cock, teasing him. She could tell from what little of his conversation she was listening to that he was having more difficulty following Malfoy's responses to his questions.

Finally, when she was satisfied he had been tortured enough, Hermione wrapped her lips around Snape's swollen member and slid the length of it into her mouth. She heard Snape groan aloud and smiled to herself. Raising her head so he slid nearly all the way out of her mouth, she swiftly lowered her head again, swallowing as moved, taking his entire cock into her throat. She continued to blow him, knowing it was nearly impossible for Snape to carry on a conversation at that point.

Finally, though she didn't notice him saying goodbye, Hermione heard the door close behind Malfoy as he left the classroom. Ceasing her ministrations on his cock, Hermione climbed out from under the desk. Snape looked as though he were in agony, and there was murder in his eyes.

Hermione smiled smugly at Snape, enjoying his torture. Snape glared back at her and practically spat, "What the hell is wrong with you? Did you want to get caught?" Then a light dawned in his eyes. "You did want to get caught, didn't you?"

Hermione looked back at him, and shrugged her shoulders. "Didn't you like it?" she asked slyly. Snape continued to glare at her and gave no response. His cock, still hard and soaked in Hermione's saliva, curved against his stomach and Hermione decided this wasn't the time to talk. She quickly pulled off her bra and slipped her soaked panties to the floor. She wore only her knee highs and school shoes.

Hermione approached Snape and began to remove his clothes. "Miss Granger," he croaked, his voice hoarse, but said nothing further. Any resolve he had left was crumbling. In order to remove his pants, she had to unbind his legs, and did so, one at a time. He did nothing to move away from her or to get out of the chair, so she left them unbound. In order to remove his robes and shirt, she had the same dilemma, and again, decided to release his bindings.

Straddling the now naked Snape, Hermione felt powerful. "Miss Granger," he said again, still attempting to control his voice, "we must stop this now, before it goes further than it already has." But Hermione only smiled and said, "Touch me, Professor." He winced when she addressed him as Professor again, and she knew he felt powerless. His hands immediately went to her breasts, and Hermione moaned with pleasure. She began to kiss him again, urgently, her tongue pressing into his mouth. His hands continued to explore her breasts, pinching and rubbing her nipples. His mouth eventually began to move down her throat, until it found her left nipple. He eagerly sucked it into his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue.

Hermione's flung her head back in ecstasy, and dug her fingers into his shoulders. This was glorious. She was controlling this man, a man who had controlled her for so long, first through her schoolwork, and then merely through the heat of his eyes.

Hermione's lifted her head back up and looked at Snape. He met her gaze as her hand began to travel down between them. As she grasped his cock in her hand and positioned the head at the entrance to her pussy, she looked deep into his, feeling victorious. Just as she was about to move her hips down to impale herself on Snape's rigid member, his eyes flashed and were filled with the same intense heat that took her breath away. His body tensed and his arms tightened around her. Hermione was dimly aware for a moment that she had somehow lost control.

Then, instantly, Snape was on his feet, slamming Hermione's body into the desk in front of them and turning her around roughly. With one hand in her hair and the other on her waist, Snape bent her body over the desk, her bare breasts and aching nipples pushed against the surface of the desk. In one fluid motion, he kicked her legs apart and thrust his cock into her swollen pussy. Hermione cried out in pain and pleasure as she felt his cock fill her up, withdraw and then slam into her body once more. She moaned as the tip of his cock met her g-spot with each thrust.

Snape tangled his fingers further into Hermione's hair and pulled her head back. He reached his left arm around and grasped her breast, squeezing her nipple. Pulling her head close to his, she felt his hot breath in her ear. "Do not question my authority, Miss Granger," he commanded, his voice silky. "You _have_ been a bad girl and I _will_ punish you." His thrusts into her became more regular. With each thrust, she felt his balls slap against her ass, and Hermione ground her ass against him, seeking even deeper penetration.

Hermione was lost to the rhythmic drive of Snape's cock deep inside her. His all-consuming presence absorbed her and she wanted nothing more than to be dominated by him.

Hermione felt Snape release his hold on her hair and he gripped her hips with both hands. As he steadily pounded her, she began to cry out in time to the force of his cock. "Oh, God, don't stop, Professor, fuck me, don't stop!" she cried. She had completely lost control and didn't care. It was as she had imagined in her fantasy – he would persevere until she was completely satisfied.

As Snape began to build closer to his release, he began to groan with each thrust. Then, smacking her on the ass as he did so, he grunted, "You're a bad girl, Miss Granger." Hermione howled at the smack, on the verge of coming. He smacked her again, "I have to punish you, you deserve it."

Hermione was nearly there; she felt as though she were about to tip over a waterfall. Grinding herself into him more, she shouted, "Yes, Professor, yes! Punish me!" Snape smacked her ass a final time and thrust deep into her, pushing Hermione over the edge. Her orgasm came hard, sending spasm after spasm of agonizing pleasure through her body. Hermione tightened the walls of pussy as she came, gripping Snape's cock within her.

Snape groaned at the added tightness, feeling his release nearing. Then Hermione reached between her legs until she found Snape's cock buried deep within her. She slipped her fingers around his balls and began to massage them lightly. The tight hold on his cock and the added pressure on his balls was too much; Snape came, shooting thick streams of come deep into Hermione.

Snape groaned as he emptied himself and Hermione moaned, feeling the hot jets within her. She bucked her hips back against Snape again, taking his entire load. As he withdrew from her, she felt it begin to dribble down her legs, there was so much.

Hermione could feel Snape's hands shaking as he stepped back from her and collapsed in his chair. She lifted her chest from the desk and turned to face him. Then, with her eyes locked on his, she slid her hand between her legs and then brought her fingers to her mouth. Snape groaned again as he watched her lick and suck her fingers clean.

Hermione again walked over to Snape and straddled him in the chair. She leaned down and kissed him, sliding her tongue into his mouth and pressing her body against him. As she withdrew, she whispered, "Thank you, Professor." She gathered up her clothes, pulling on her skirt and shirt. Snape was watching her again, saying nothing. She picked up the Invisibility Cloak but didn't put it on. She met Snape's gaze once again, trying to read his expression. It was impossible. She threw the cloak on and began to move toward the door. As she reached for the handle, she heard him call out to her, "Miss Granger." She turned, allowing the cloak to slip to her shoulders so he could see her. She waited a moment, but when he said nothing further, she pulled the cloak up again. "Goodnight, Professor."

P.S. I have a thought with regard to who Harry was thinking of...I may address that in a future story.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This story was originally written as a one-shot. But after reading everyone's lovely reviews (which truly made my day!), I decided to go a little further. So following is Chapter 2 of what I think will be a three-chapter story. Also, I have not gone back to Harry's side story, but will probably make that a story of its own at some point.

Hermione stepped through the doorway and pulled the centuries-old classroom door closed behind her with a resounding thud. As the noise echoed throughout the dungeon corridor for what seemed like an eternity, she stood still and closed her eyes. She felt as though her brain had been removed from her head and replaced with fluffy cotton balls. She could still feel a faint but persistent tingling throughout her body as a result of the tremendous orgasm she had just experienced.

With great effort, Hermione began to walk away from the door. In her hazy state, she couldn't, for the life of her, determine where she was supposed to go. Clutching half her clothing to her chest with one hand and holding the Invisibility Cloak in place with the other, she stumbled a few feet down the hall.

Finally, as she neared the staircase, some clarity began to seep into her consciousness. Images of the previous hour flashed through Hermione's mind and she stopped moving once again as she reconstructed the events. As she relived it in her mind, Hermione could feel Snape's hands on her breasts as she sat astride his naked lap; she could feel his scorching tongue curl around her nipple. As clearly as if were happening again, she felt herself bent over the desk, Snape pulling her hair and plunging into her repeatedly.

And then, in a rush, Hermione's words returned to her. She heard herself asking her professor, _Are you going to punish me?_

Hermione felt as though an anvil had dropped into the pit of her stomach. What had she done? Had she lost her mind entirely? Instantly, complete and total awareness returned to her, and the tingling feeling she had been reveling in just seconds before was replaced by a cold wave of panic and remorse. Recognizing that she was still standing just feet from the Potions classroom door, she fled up the nearest staircase as fast as she could.

As Hermione ascended each staircase and tore through each hallway, she didn't bother to check the map gripped tightly in her hand. Despite her indiscretion, however, she arrived at the prefects' bathroom without running into a soul. Locking the door behind her, she threw all of her clothing to the floor next to the enormous tub and turned every tap on full blast. The tub filled quickly and she immediately submerged her entire body in the scalding water.

As Hermione attempted to scour herself clean, she did everything in her power to repress the memories of her actions, but to no avail. With each violent swipe at her skin, another word, another deed, another act of unspeakable depravity swam into view. Nevertheless, Hermione continued to scrub.

She had become someone she no longer recognized. The person she thought she was would never have done this, would never have slept with her teacher. _Oh my God, I slept with my teacher_, she thought, and scrubbed harder.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been as awful if she had simply succumbed to the heat of the moment. Perhaps if she had found herself with him unexpectedly, and had merely allowed her defenses to drop for an instant. Perhaps then, she could have excused her behavior, if not forgiven herself for it.

But no. This was inexcusable. This was premeditated. Hermione was painfully aware of her thoughts in the days leading up to that evening. She clearly could recall the moment when her plan crystallized in her brain, when she knew, not only that she would seduce him, but also exactly how she would do it. She had planned this and it was unforgivable. It was as though she had been operating under a thick cloud of desire and arousal for days, and the cloud had suddenly lifted, providing her with glaring clarity.

Again and again, the memory of her words came back to her, begging her professor to punish her for being a bad girl. Eventually, Hermione recognized that no amount of scrubbing could banish such memories from her mind and she climbed out of the tub. Her skin was rubbed raw and pink, but she took a small amount of satisfaction from the sting of the towel on her body as she dried herself. Any small penance was a comfort.

Hermione wrapped her school robe around her, gathered up the rest of her belongings and made her way back up to Gryffindor Tower. As she approached the portrait hole, she vaguely remembered having a conversation with the Fat Lady as she departed hours before. One thing was certain: she had no desire to talk to her now.

Clearly, the Fat Lady had other ideas. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the night, she was wide awake, watching Hermione's approach with a salacious grin upon her face.

"Well, well, well, look who has decided to return. So out with it, let's hear…." The Fat Lady's nosy questions trailed away and her smug smile vanished as she surveyed Hermione: her robe wrapped carelessly around her body, her dripping-wet hair hanging limp around her face, her clothing sloppily bundled in her arms.

"Corona Austrina," said Hermione dully, her eyes cast down to the floor. In recognition of the password, the Fat Lady swung forward, her forehead crinkled with concern.

"Oh, dear, oh, my poor dear! You go straight up to your bed, don't waste a moment!"

Hermione climbed through the entrance, barely hearing the Fat Lady's sympathetic utterances that followed her into the common room. Without sparing a glance at the darkened room, she crossed to her stairwell and steadily mounted the steps to her dormitory.

As Hermione entered her bedroom, she noted the even breathing of her roommates and was grateful to find them sleeping. She stripped off her robe and dumped it unceremoniously into her trunk, along with everything else in her arms. From under the pile, she then pulled her heaviest nightgown and slipped it over her head. Crawling into bed, she drew her curtains and pulled the blankets over her head.

Aside from the quiet breathing of Lavender and Parvati, the room was deathly quiet. Without anything to distract her, Hermione's thoughts began to overwhelm her once again. From deep in the pit of her stomach, the guilt and disgust that had begun to simmer as she departed the dungeons boiled over and spread throughout her body. Hot tears prickled at the backs of her eyelids and slowly spilled, one by one, down her cheeks. Eventually, the effort to hold back the tide was too great, too exhausting, and she succumbed to her anguish. Sobs wracked her body, pierced intermittently by great, heaving breaths. At last, feeling like an empty shell of her former self, Hermione wound herself into a tight ball and fell asleep.

Several hours later, Hermione awoke to the concerned whispers of her roommates as they dressed. She couldn't hear them well, but caught enough of the conversation to understand they had heard her crying and didn't know why.

"Maybe she's sick," said Parvati in an undertone.

"Maybe she actually failed something," replied Lavender, and it was impossible for Hermione to miss the slight venom in her suggestion, despite her whispered tone. Hermione and Lavender had never been particularly close.

Hermione remained in her bed, half-listening to the continued discussion between her roommates. Eventually, she realized they were debating over whether to ask her if she was going to get up for breakfast. As she heard the question, it occurred to her that she hadn't really considered breakfast. Actually, there was a lot she hadn't considered lately.

The thought of breakfast filled her with a sense of dread and apprehension. She could not possibly enter the Great Hall. For a moment, she contemplated the possibility of not leaving her bed the rest of the day. Then she wouldn't have to go to classes, or face her professors…especially, one professor in particular. But even as shame began to overtake her emotions, Hermione realized that it was Friday; she didn't have Potions on Fridays.

Relief flooded her body, and eventually, the shameful feelings on which she had been dwelling ebbed marginally. She could go to her other classes. There was little danger of running into Professor Snape in between classes. But she would not go to the Great Hall.

With this finally decided, Hermione finally drew back her curtains. Thankfully, her roommates had left for breakfast and she had the room to herself. Climbing out of bed, Hermione winced a little. Her muscles ached and she felt as though she had been beaten. Her head was throbbing, as a combined result of the gut-wrenching tears she had shed and the fierce manner in which Snape had drawn back her head repeatedly, his finger wound through her hair. She pulled her nightgown over her head tentatively and looked down to survey the damage to her body.

Hermione's breasts were covered with small, fingertip-sized bruises and her nipples were swollen and tender from their rough treatment. On her left breast, just below the nipple was a small wound where she had been bitten. She was surprised to discover the wound; she didn't remember receiving it. Her knees were sore and bore the beginning tinges of bruising as a result of kneeling on the hard, cold stone floor beneath Snape's desk.

But the largest, most noticeable mark upon her body was the vast bruise spreading from her left side across the front of her stomach. As she touched the mark gingerly, she recalled Snape lifting her from his lap as he stood and slamming the side of her body into his desk. She could picture her body being pushed forcefully over the desk, her stomach smashing into the hard edge with each violent thrust.

Shaking her head as though to erase the memory, Hermione got dressed. Once she had her uniform and robe in place, she turned her attention her mirror. As she stared at her reflection, she thought to herself miserably, _What have I done to myself?_ She was not surprised when her reflection was unable to provide a response.

Hermione was still looking in the mirror when the door to her room opened and Parvati entered. Parvati paused in the doorway, but Hermione gave no indication that she had heard her roommate enter. Finally, Parvati asked tentatively, "Hermione…are you alright?"

Hermione responded, emotionlessly, "I'm fine." She then picked up her hairbrush and began to rake her hair back roughly, ignoring the pain it caused her. She tied the bushy tendrils with a band low on the back of her neck, in what she imagined to be the least attractive hairstyle possible. Not that she ever felt that hair looked great, but Hermione had no desire to even attempt to look attractive. As she turned from the mirror, a glint of gold caught her eye, and she removed her earrings as well.

When Hermione finally turned around, Parvati was still standing in the doorway, watching her uncertainly.

"What?" asked Hermione, impatiently, as she picked up her books and her wand. Parvati took a breath and asked again, "Are you sure you're okay? Because you don't seem okay."

Hermione was struck for a moment by Parvati's concern and imagined pouring her heart out to her, telling her the whole awful story. She couldn't even begin to imagine what her reaction would be. Telling was not an option.

"I'm fine." Hermione answered, busying herself with her books to cover the obvious lie. Parvati did not seem convinced, but didn't press the issue.

By the time Hermione made it downstairs, breakfast had long finished and students were on their way to classes. She trudged to Arithmancy, not really wanting to go. In class, she paid no attention to Professor Vector's lesson and took no notes. Instead, she stared out the window in a vain attempt to find something pleasant on which to settle her thoughts.

After Arithmancy, Hermione moved on to History of Magic, meeting Harry and Ron for the first time that day. Both were surprised not to have seen her breakfast, and let her know, but she waved them off with a vague explanation about being in the library. As such an action was not out of the question for Hermione, Harry and Ron seemed to accept the explanation at face value.

But while they may have been easily pacified with regard to her breakfast-time absence, the boys were not as easily satisfied with her lack of attention during History of Magic, nor with her decision to miss lunch as well as breakfast.

"Hermione, how are we ever going to pass this class if you don't take notes? We depend on you!" said Ron, huffily, as she turned from them before reaching the Great Hall. On any other day, Hermione would have snapped back at Ron that he could take notes himself, but for once, she had no desire to bicker with him, and didn't respond.

The rest of Hermione's day went by in a blur and she paid attention to almost nothing. Finally, at the end of the day, she went up to her room, ignoring Harry and Ron in the common room, and got back in bed. She felt hungry after not eating all day, but the thought of hiding out behind her curtains was much more powerful than the temptation of food and she went to bed without dinner.

The weekend passed in much the same manner as Friday, with Hermione participating in life as little as possible. The majority of Saturday and Sunday were spent in her bed with the curtains drawn. She had no desire to spend time with people. She didn't like herself, so why should she inflict herself on others? Besides, they would only ask questions that she didn't know how to answer. She soon became ravenously hungry but wouldn't even consider entering the Great Hall. Parvati kindly solved this problem, however, by leaving some fruit and snacks by Hermione's bed on Saturday afternoon.

On Monday, Hermione emerged from her cocoon, and attended Transfiguration, but again, without paying any attention. Harry and Ron seemed stumped by her behavior but did not press her, since she never gave them satisfactory answers.

As the clock ticked by in Transfiguration, Hermione felt a sense of panic begin to slowly rise in her chest. Potions was next, after morning break. She had been dreading this since Thursday night and had no idea what to do. She hadn't seen Professor Snape once and the thought of facing him was terrifying. She couldn't do it.

And so she didn't. At the end of Transfiguation, Hermione headed straight back to Gryffindor Tower, ignoring Harry and Ron's increasingly confused questions. Sitting alone in her room, her agitation grew exponentially as time passed. She had never deliberately skipped a lesson before, excluding the time she walked out of that pathetic excuse for a class, Divination. And while she hadn't paid attention in her other lessons the past few days, she had at least gone. What would Snape think when he realized she wasn't there?

On Tuesday, Hermione decided it was time to return to the Great Hall. She was starving and she was pretty sure that Parvati wasn't going to continue bringing her food if she didn't offer some sort of explanation for her strange behavior. So Hermione returned to the Great Hall for each meal time. But each time she entered the hall, she was careful to train her full attention on the Gryffindor table and make a beeline for her seat. As she had the year before, after her encounter with Snape outside the library, she was careful never to look toward the head table, keeping her eyes on her food. Several days passed and she managed not even to catch a glimpse of Snape.

Hermione was grateful not to have to face her professor, but she knew that her good fortune would not last. On Thursday evening, just as Hermione was finishing her dinner, she glanced about the room, forgetting that looking around the room was exactly what she did not want to do. For the briefest of moments, her eyes came to rest on Professor Snape. She averted her eyes immediately, but it was as though he could feel her gaze touch him. Though he had been deep in conversation with Professor Flitwick, Snape's head turned quickly toward her. Hermione looked down into her dinner plate, but knew he had caught her. Her cheeks flushed and the feeling of shame she had been holding back all week rose within her again.

Hermione didn't have to look up again to know that Snape was watching her. She picked up her fork and put it back down immediately, unsure what to do with herself. She took a long swallow of water from her glass, put her glass down, picked it back up, then set it down on the table again. She twisted her fingers in her lap and tried to settle her nerves. But it was no use. She couldn't remain in the room with him. She got up from the table and, without a backward glance, headed for the door. It took every ounce of restraint within her not to run.

Upon reaching the entrance hall, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. But no sooner had she begun to relax and slow her pace than she heard, with horror, Snape speak her name from the doorway of the Great Hall.

Hermione stopped walking, but did not turn around to face him. Her heart was beating rapidly in what felt like an irregular rhythm. She fleetingly wondered whether something was physically wrong with her; she had never felt her heart beat in such an alarming way.

"Miss Granger, I am speaking to you," came Snape's voice again from behind her. Hermione finally turned around, but did not raise her eyes to his face. Instead, she looked to the floor. But though her eyes were on his shoes, in her mind, an image of his bare feet suddenly appeared. Her mind's eye began to travel up the professor's naked legs, and Hermione beat the image back before it progressed any farther up his body. She snapped her eyes up from the floor to try and erase the images, but, to her dismay, then found herself look straight into the eyes of Snape.

His eyes were as dark and unreadable as ever. "Miss Granger, you have missed two Potions lessons this week. This is a very serious offense and warrants detention. Explain yourself," he commanded. Hermione had no words. Surely, he knew why she had not attended class. And while she knew she could not expect to be excused for her absence, she also did not expect to have to discuss her reasons with him.

Professor Snape appeared to be waiting for an answer from Hermione, but she gave him none. Finally, his patience grew thin and he growled at her, "You will attend Potions lessons from now on, or I shall be forced to notify your Head of House, as well as the Headmaster, of your actions."

At his words, Hermione felt a surge of anger flare within her, and for the first time in a week, the anger was directed at someone other than herself. How dare he? Suddenly, Hermione was able to step back from her near-constant state of misery and examine the situation at hand. For nearly a week, she had heaped blame upon herself for seducing her teacher and giving in to her most corrupt desires. She had held herself entirely responsible for the events of that evening, and had refrained from laying any blame at her professor's feet. But as he stood before her, acting for all the world as though nothing had ever happened between them, her ire was raised.

For the first time, Hermione recognized that, despite all her intentions and schemes to seduce Snape, he was the one who had started it. He was the one who merely looked at her and lit her on fire. He was the one whose touch aroused her. He was the one who had challenged her to act. When she arrived in his classroom that night, she had done so with his implied permission. She was not entirely to blame.

And so Hermione became angry. She had spent a week punishing herself, while Professor Snape seemed to think nothing was wrong. And then, after everything, to threaten to report her to McGonagall and Dumbledore – it was too much.

Hermione glared back at Snape. "Yes, _Professor_," she spat, "Perhaps you should involve Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore in this situation. I would welcome their opinion as to your behavior, as well."

At her words, Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously and he took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He said nothing, but didn't need to. Hermione didn't alter her gaze, but felt intimidated and a little afraid. She knew that she wouldn't tell anyone what had happened; neither of them would. Snape continued to glower at her, his eyes penetrating hers. Without warning, coupled with the fear his look was instilling within her, Hermione felt a flash of desire. It was the first time all week that she had felt the least bit of arousal and it surprised her. But the knowledge that Snape could still inspire such excitement within her angered her even more than his words and she steeled herself against him. Breaking her gaze, she turned away from him without another word.

As she reached the first step of the stairway, she heard his authoritative voice once more. "You will report to lessons on Monday, Miss Granger. Or else." She continued up the steps and shivered. She wondered what punishment he would actually inflict if she failed to go to class again. At the thought, the flash of desire she had felt at his gaze returned and this time, she didn't try to suppress it.

_Snape's eyes were on hers once again, and she found herself unable to look away. She had spent a week blaming herself, wallowing in a wretched state of self-pity, and she was tired of it. She was aware of the danger flashing in his dark eyes and she knew she should turn away now. But she couldn't. The memory of his body on hers, the pain and pleasure he had inflicted on her simultaneously was as fresh in her mind as though it had just happened. _

_As they continued staring at each other, Hermione's breath became shallow and ragged. Her pulse quickened. Snape's eyes were hot upon her, devouring her. The tension between them became strained to the breaking point._

_And then at once, his mouth was upon hers. She felt her lips crushed beneath his, then his tongue forcing its way through to her own. He pressed his body against her and propelled her backward, slamming her against the wall. Snape placed his hands on the wall on either side of her, pinning her in place. Their kiss continued, insistent and demanding, as he moved his body up and down against her. She could feel his growing erection against her stomach and she moaned into his mouth, remembering the feel of it inside her._

_Suddenly, Hermione's mind cleared for a moment, and she recalled that she and the professor were in the entrance hall, as hundreds of students and teachers dined within the Great Hall, just steps away. At any moment, any one person, or the entire hall, could stumble upon them. She broke her lips away from his and he immediately moved to her throat, pulling the tender skin between his teeth, nearly causing her knees to buckle. "Wait," she breathed. He ignored her and she moaned again as he bit into the flesh of her throat. "No, wait," she said again, hoarsely. "We could get caught here."_

_At these words, he finally detached his mouth from her body and looked at her. The intensity of his look melted her into a pool of desire. "Oh, but you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he asked, in a somewhat sarcastic, accusing tone. "You'd just love to get caught." His lips found hers again and she forgot what they were discussing. _

_Snape did not appear to forget however, because, after a moment, he once again pulled his mouth away and grabbed her wrist roughly. Dragging her several feet across the entrance hall, he opened the broom cupboard near the enormous front door and shoved her inside. The door closed behind them and they were surrounded in almost total darkness. Snape threw Hermione up against a shelf and aligned his body with hers again. His cock was now fully erect and throbbing against her. _

_In the darkness, Hermione felt Snape's hands slide over her chest and swiftly rip open her robes. His hands curved around her breasts for an instant and then she felt his fingers work their way between two buttons on her shirt. Grasping each side, he ripped her shirt open as well, and she heard buttons bounce off every surface in the cupboard._

_The demanding way in which Snape removed her clothes stimulated her and she moaned again, pressing away from the shelf and against his body. His hands slithered around her body until he gripped her ass and he jerked her hips toward him. They both groaned in unison as his cock was pressed between them._

_Finally, it seemed that Snape had had enough. He reached under her skirt and tore her panties down to her ankles. She could hear him fumble with his clothing for a moment and then his hands were beneath her once again. He lifted her, placing her precariously on the edge of the shelf immediately behind her. Hermione couldn't quite sit on the shelf and had to keep her hands on Snape's shoulders to keep from falling off. But even as she steadied herself, his hands forcefully spread her legs apart and he drove his cock deep into her pussy. _

_Hermione cried out at the sudden penetration, but Snape did not stop. He relentlessly drove his cock into her, slamming her back against the wall with each thrust. Hermione felt completely filled up with him, not just by his cock, but by his entire being. She vaguely recalled feeling the same way during their last encounter and welcomed the complete abandon of common sense and rationality that she felt, the absolute dominion that she allowed him over her. No, she didn't allow it. He demanded it._

_Snape's thrusts were coming more quickly and Hermione felt herself building toward a crescendo. She could not stop herself; she cried out in fits and gasps, "Oh, God, Professor, yes, fuck me harder!"_

_And then she came, her orgasm spreading through her body, from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She felt as though she could cry from the lightness of feeling the release brought. As she groaned in ecstasy, Snape also came, a strangled cry rising from his throat._

Hermione awoke with a start, the sound of Snape's orgasmic cry ringing in her ears. She was alone in her bed, in the middle of the night. Her heart was pounding and she was sweating profusely. Her pussy was hot and wet and her nipples, now healed, were hard. Goosebumps stood up on every inch of her body and her mouth and throat felt dry. Hermione ran her hand over her face, trying to make sense of what was happening. Then, abandoning all attempts at reason and rationality, she plunged her hand into her panties and slid her fingers into her dripping pussy.

As her index finger found her clit, she let out a groan of satisfaction. She had not touched herself, or been touched, in over a week and her body was aching for release. After the intensely erotic dream she had just experienced, it didn't take much to push her to the edge. Hermione slid two fingers into herself and pumped them in and out a few times. Almost instantly, she could feel her coming orgasm build within her. As she slid her fingers in and out, faster and faster, she rubbed her clit with her thumb, teasing the sensitive nub.

She remembered her dream, feeling Snape's cock within her, hard and thick, as he pressed her against the wall in the broom cupboard. She heard herself begging him to fuck her harder. She was somewhat aware that, in her dream, Snape had demanded full control of her once again, and once again, she had done nothing to fight it. Had Hermione realized this at any other moment, she might have felt anger at the realization. But in her highly aroused state, the thought of Snape dominating her, as he had dominated her in his classroom, brought her to the height of ecstasy, and she felt the waves of her orgasm crash over her. She continued moving her fingers in and out of her pussy, arching her back off the bed. Hermione nearly cried with relief, sliding her left hand over her stomach, across her breasts and along her throat.

When her shuddering body finally stilled, Hermione rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, allowing sleep to come. She didn't bother to think about what any of this meant; there would be plenty of time the next day.

Over the next few days, Harry and Ron were surprised, but happy, to find that Hermione was, if not normal, then at least much closer to her normal self. She threw herself into her work, doing her best to make up for the lost week in which she learned next to nothing. Her conversation with Professor Snape on Thursday evening had been a wake-up call for Hermione, allowing her to refocus her attention on the things she knew were more important.

But Snape's words to her had done more than just direct her back to her schoolwork. Hermione was angrier than she could ever remember being, and the emotion seemed to simmer just below the surface at all times. She was angry that Snape could act as though nothing had happened between them. She was angry that she had allowed herself to be so distracted. And most of all, she was angry that she was still attracted to him.

In fact, if anything, she was more attracted to Snape now than she had been previously. She felt at war with herself. One part of her yearned for him to take her violently, as he had in his classroom and in her dream, while another part of her loathed him _because_ she wanted him to, and because he had such control over her.

Hermione's dream disturbed her most of all. It was as though her subconscious had betrayed her. And since having the dream, she found herself aroused again, every night when she went to bed. As exhausted as she was at the end of each day, and try as she might to go straight to sleep, it was only after she had come, gasping and writhing in her bed, that she would fall into blissful unconsciousness.

Despite Hermione's reawakened arousal by her professor, however, she was determined not to go to him again. The results of her first visit, as exciting and erotic as it had been, were disastrous. Hermione quickly became aware of just how much work she had missed and how much time she had let slip by in her numbed state. Her seventh year was the worst possible time to be distracted, and she would have to work twice as hard to catch up.

So Hermione threw herself into her work over the weekend, not allowing herself to think of her coming Potions lesson on Monday morning. And as a result, without warning, Monday morning arrived and she was standing before the dungeon classroom door again, completely unprepared.

All of the other students had entered the room and Hermione knew if she didn't join them soon, she would be late. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself immediately, so she took a deep breath, let it out, and opened the door.

Snape looked up at her as she walked into the classroom, but she kept her eyes forward, heading right to her table. She looked to the board, careful not to catch his eye, and began preparing her potion ingredients, as outlined on the board. She could feel his gaze upon her, but she ignored it and proceeded with her work. Eventually, he settled into his classroom routine, and she was able to relax slightly. By the time class was halfway over, she had almost forgotten why she was uncomfortable in the first place. It felt good to return to her work and she progressed steadily, determined to produce a flawless potion.

Despite the distance as she was able to put between them during class, however, Hermione's anxiety over coming into contact with Snape increased sharply as the class ended. Finished with her potion, she poured a ladleful of her cauldron's contents into a flacon, stoppered it, and filed into the line of students bringing their potions to the front of the room. With eight students in front of her, her heart began to beat faster. With six students before her, she felt her mouth go dry and her knees shake. With three students to go, her hands became sweaty and she had to grip her potion carefully so as not to drop it. And then she was standing before him, submitting her potion. Cautiously, she extended her arm until the potion was in his hand. As his fingers closed around the small bottle, part of his hand brushed against hers and she felt jolts of electricity shoot through her body. She knew he could hear her uneven breathing, could see the redness of her cheeks.

For a moment, neither of them pulled their hands away, but remained touching. Summoning all of her courage, she lifted her eyes to meet his, and was taken aback by the openness she found there. For a second, his dark eyes, usually so impenetrable, were expressive. And in an instant, she read them, finding bottomless desire there. But there was something else, as well…was it…pain? Guilt?

Even as Hermione struggled to place the emotions she found behind his normally veiled eyes, his opaqueness returned. His eyes became hard he set his mouth in a line. He removed the potion from her hand and turned from her curtly. She returned to her desk to pack up her belongings, as her emotions tumbled within her.

Hermione wanted so much to hate this man, for what he had done to her, for what she had allowed him to do to her. For what she had wanted him to do to her. But she wanted him. And now this, this brief glimpse at his soul. She wanted to know more, and at the same time, wanted nothing to do with him.

She followed the rest of her classmates to the Great Hall where lunch was about to be served. She was deep in thought, considering her feelings about her professor and trying to define her relationship with him. Her thoughts consumed her during the entire meal, so much so that Harry had to call her name three times in order to draw her attention to the third-year student standing next to her at the end of the meal. The student had brought a note.

Hermione's heart thudded as she accepted the note, certain of the identity of the sender. When she was sure no one could see, she opened it under the table with shaking fingers. It contained one word, written in a tiny, cramped hand:

_Midnight._

There was no doubt in her mind as to its meaning. Nevertheless, her eyes returned to the note a dozen times, the word repeating in her brain. Her immediate reaction was one of elation: he wanted her. As she thought of her sleepless nights, her desire for him grew and she became turned on, picturing the various ways the evening could unfold.

But closely following her first reaction was the anger that was so readily at hand as of late. He wasn't asking, he was ordering. And hadn't she just decided that this would never happen again? She couldn't afford the distraction. But more than anything, the idea of capitulating to him so easily frustrated her. She would not go.

And so she didn't. As the clock crept towards midnight, she became anxious, and several times, she found herself imagining what would happen if she went. But eventually, twelve o'clock came and went, and she remained in her room, trying to sleep.

On Wednesday morning, Hermione entered Potions again, nervous about the reaction she would receive from Snape. She had studiously avoided him all of Tuesday and Wednesday morning, but knew that not meeting his eye during her lesson would be difficult. However, as she took her seat, she found that he did not even glance at her. Perhaps everything would be better now, she thought with relief. Perhaps her failure to meet him on Monday night was exactly what was needed to establish some boundaries.

And then her grade sheet from the previous lesson's potion was placed before her. She had received a "P." Poor.

The reality of the situation settled upon her shoulders like a lead weight. She had received a failing grade. She _never_ received failing grades. True, it wasn't a "D" or, heaven forbid, a "T," but all the same, she had failed. And then her anger returned to her like an old friend. Her potion had been perfect, and he knew it. He had done this on purpose.

Hermione was outraged, her blood boiling, but she knew she had no recourse. She set to work on the day's next potion, determined to make it even better than the last. At the end of the lesson, she strode to the front of the room, thrust the potion into his hand without a glance, and stormed out of the classroom.

On Wednesday afternoon at lunch, she was unsurprised to receive a second note. Opening it surreptitiously, she took in its contents only once. It read:

_Midnight. Do not disobey me._

Hermione crumpled the note and, while crossing through the courtyard outside that afternoon, set fire to it, watching the command go up in smoke. She returned to Potions on Monday to receive a "D" on her previous potion.

At the end of the lesson on Monday, Hermione angrily stuffed her books into her bad and was about to exit the room when Snape suddenly spoke to her.

"Miss Granger, you have now failed two assignments in a row. Between your shoddy classwork and your previous absences, I am forced to conclude that you are not making a sincere effort in this class. Perhaps a detention will help to set you in the right direction." Snape was sitting at his desk, his eyes not on Hermione, but on the flasks of potion before him that he was counting. Hermione said nothing.

After a moment of silence, he picked up his quill, his attention still on his desk. "You will report here at eight o'clock this evening to serve your detention."

Hermione passed through the remainder of her day in a state of great agitation. Despite her anger at Snape, the thought of being alone with him again excited her more than she wanted to admit. And it wasn't as though she were returning to him of her own volition; if she failed to attend detention, she would be forced to speak to Dumbledore. And she did _not_ want Dumbledore involved.

After dinner, Hermione returned to the common room and attempted to tackle her homework, to no avail. She was imagining what Snape could have in store for her that evening and the possibilities were turning her on. As she tried desperately to focus on her Arithmancy assignment, she squirmed in her chair, aware that her panties were becoming wet. Furtively, she slid a hand between her legs and swiftly rubbed her swollen clit. But any real attempts at bringing herself to climax were useless, she knew, in the crowded common room.

At five minutes to eight, her agonizing wait finally came to an end and she departed Gryffindor Tower, heading for the dungeon. It felt strange to walk down to the Potions classroom in full view of anyone passing in the halls. But she was serving detention, and there was no reason to hide the fact. What happened when she reached detention was up to her professor.

She opened the classroom door and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. For a moment, Snape did not look up from his work, but put up his index finger, indicating that she should wait. He finished his thought on the essay he was grading and then looked up.

"Ah, Miss Granger, I am glad to see you have made the sensible decision not to ignore your detention. Follow me," he stated crisply. He crossed the room, to the wall opposite the classroom door and she dutifully followed him. Reaching the far corner, he pulled open the door to his ingredient storeroom, and turned to face her. Hermione looked into the storeroom and looked back at her professor, uncomprehendingly. Did he want to have sex in the storeroom? Images of her tryst with Snape in the broom cupboard from her dream came back to her and she thought to herself that the storeroom might not be too bad.

After a moment, she realized that Snape was talking to her. Trying to jump into his train of thought mid-stream, she suddenly gained a full appreciation of the situation: he wanted her to clean the storeroom.

Hermione blinked several times and looked between the storeroom and her professor again. Was he serious? But one look at his face told her that yes, he was absolutely serious. And so, without a word to Snape, Hermione entered the storeroom and slammed the door behind her.

She was not prepared for the mess that met her eyes. The storeroom was not deep, but it was tall, with a ladder that stretched well above her head, allowing access to the shelves above. And on every shelf, as well as every other available surface, there were bottles of potion ingredients. They were scattered throughout the room in disarray, some of the older bottles covered in grime and dust. Hermione looked about her dejectedly. This was not what she had had in mind when she entered the dungeon that evening.

Nevertheless, Hermione dove into her work, cleaning and sorting bottles well into the night. She lost track of time, allowing herself to daydream while her hands completed the mindless, tedious work. And finally, nearly five hours after she began, the door to the storeroom opened.

Hermione turned towards the door, startled. She had just about completed her task and the room was practically unrecognizable. Clearly, her professor had not anticipated such a dramatic change, because a small gasp escaped his lips before he composed himself.

He entered the storeroom and began to peruse the newly-organized shelves, ignoring the room's other occupant. Hermione slipped out the door and sat upon a table, exhausted. She wished that he would tell her she was free to return to Gryffindor Tower. Her bed was calling her.

Snape finally emerged from the storeroom and strode back to his desk. Only when he had reached his desk, sat down, and begun sorting through sheaves of parchment on the desktop did he acknowledge Hermione's continued presence.

"That will be all, Miss Granger," he said distractedly, not looking at her. Hermione was tired and ready to go, but she was beginning to feel annoyed.

"Well?" she asked pointedly, as she climbed off the desk.

"Well, what?" he responded, not looking up from his papers. "Oh, yes, the storeroom is acceptable," he continued vaguely. Hermione was not satisfied. She had just spent five hours cleaning and organizing a filthy closet, creating order and neatness where there had previously been chaos, and she wanted recognition for it. She was covered in dust and grime, with cobwebs in her hair and smudges on her face. She was hot and felt her uniform sticking to her damp skin beneath her robe.

Hermione approached the side of Snape's desk, saying as she walked, "My work is always better than acceptable, Professor." Snape glanced up at her briefly, but said nothing and quickly returned to his work. Hermione folded her arms over her chest and frowned at him.

"I didn't deserve to fail those assignments and you know it," she challenged him, her eyes on the side of his face. At this, Snape finally turned from his work, training his dark eyes on hers.

"I have warned you before, Miss Granger, not to defy me. You must learn that your actions have consequences."

She was amazed at how quickly her professor could swing from such a distracted state to one of such intense focus.

"And what about your actions, Professor?" she countered, not hiding the resentment in her voice.

Snape stood up from his desk, facing Hermione. She could sense his fury rising within him at her questioning of his accountability. Despite the warning signs however, she continued, "I do not have to answer to you."

Snape lunged for her, and Hermione tried to dart away, certain that he was going to hurt her. But she was not quick enough and Snape caught her by each arm, just above her elbows. She stood still, terrified, and he paused for just a moment. Sparks were shooting from his eyes and his mouth was open in a snarl. And then he pulled her toward him fiercely, his hands still gripping her arms, and his lips smashed down upon hers.

The whole world seemed to go dark and Hermione tried to process what was happening. He was kissing her and now everything was starting all over. Her mind desperately screamed for her to stop, to get away and not let this happen again, but her body responded to his touch. She threw herself against him, opening her mouth and seeking his tongue.

And then, to Hermione's dismay, as suddenly as he had begun, Snape pulled away. Startled, she opened her eyes to find him completely altered. No longer were his eyes flashing and his fists gripped around her arms. Instead, his dark, murky eyes were on her body as his fingers swiftly removed her robe and unbuttoned her shirt. His hands found her breasts and cupped them greedily, his fingers sliding beneath the fabric of her bra.

Snape put his mouth on hers once again, but this time the kiss was hungry and insistent, rather than punishing. Hermione could find no explanation for his instantaneous change in demeanor, but as his fingers teased her nipples, she found she couldn't bring herself to care.

Snape pushed her robe to the floor and then began to loosen the tie that hung in front of her open shirt. He pulled the tie over her head and slipped it over his wrist. As his tongue slid into her waiting mouth, his hands removed her bra, adding it to her growing pile of her clothing on the floor. He leaned into her as he continued the kiss, the small of her back pressing up against his desk behind her. As his hands slid down her arms and onto her wrists, he pulled her to the floor in front of the desk.

As Hermione sank to the floor, she felt the exquisite pressure of his body on top of hers. In a second, she was lying down, her bare back touching the rough stone floor. She opened her legs, allowing space for his body between her knees. As his legs and hips touched her bare thighs under her skirt, she realized that he was still fully clothed. She tried to move her hands to his shirt so she could begin to undress him, but Snape restrained her, keeping his hands firmly on her wrists.

Snape continued to kiss Hermione, his tongue sliding into her mouth, as he gripped her wrists and pushed her arms above her head. Pinning her arms in place with one hand, he pulled her tie from his arm with the other. Then, quickly, efficiently, he tied her wrists together with the already-knotted tie and bound the loose ends of the tie around the leg of the massive desk behind her.

Hermione sucked in her breath as awareness dawned on her. She was powerless. Suddenly, every sensation was heightened. She could feel the cool dungeon air pass over her bare skin, the press of the cold stone against her sensitive back.

And she could feel his hands, his mouth, his tongue. Snape was everywhere, enveloping her body. He placed his hands over hers, running each hand ever so slowly down her arms stretched above her head. Each of his hands slid down the sides of her breasts and then down to her hips. He slowly unbuttoned her skirt, pulling it lazily down her thighs.

One at a time, he removed her shoes, then her socks. Each time a new bit of skin was exposed to the cold air, she shivered with pleasure. Finally, Snape inserted a finger into each side of her panties and drew them to her ankles and over her feet. Hermione was completely naked on the floor, her arms tied uselessly above her.

Snape lifted his body above hers, his arms supporting his weight on either side of her. Then, with torturous deliberation, he lowered himself, inch by inch, until his body was on top of hers. Through the layers of his clothing and robes, she could plainly feel his erect cock against her. She wriggled a little beneath him in frustration, wishing she could remove his clothes.

Snape gently introduced his tongue into her ear and then pulled her lobe between his lips. Almost casually, he trailed his tongue down the side of her cheek, and soon, he was planting wet kisses along her throat, licking each little sensitive spot, causing her to sigh with bliss. His hands returned to her aching breasts, which he softly stroked, twirling her fingers lightly around her hardened nipples. Eventually, his lips made their way down to meet his fingers, pulling her nipple with a gentle suck.

Hermione groaned aloud, and spread her legs. She was hot and wet and wanted him in her, but she had no way to even begin to remove his pants. Fleetingly, she thought to herself that he would not allow her to exert control over him in any way, but seemed to be able to control himself indefinitely. Snape continued his winding path down her torso, gently lapping her stomach inch by inch. When he reached her navel, his tongue dipped inside and Hermione screamed as though she had just touched a hot flame. She wrapped her legs around him tightly, whimpering as his mouth made its never-ending journey toward the apex of her thighs.

Finally, as Hermione neared a state of emotional collapse, Snape's head reached her mound. She arched her back, trying to get closer to his mouth, but he backed away slightly. His hands massaged her thighs gently and then slid up to the trembling lips of her pussy. Carefully, his fingers traced the sides of her lips and then lightly pulled them apart, revealing her throbbing clit.

Hermione was wound up to such a state, she could no longer think straight. The agony of his cautious progress was too much to take; she began to cry. As tears leaked out of her eyes, Snape brought his mouth down to her pussy, the very tip of his tongue reaching for her engorged clit. As he made contact, Hermione released a low, guttural moan, no longer sounding human.

Snape whirled his tongue around her clit repeatedly and then plunged into her, causing her to thrash violently on the floor. His hands slid back to her thighs and pressed them against the floor, stopping her movement. His head continued to bob slightly between her legs and his masterful tongue brought her closer and closer to climax.

Hermione was lost to the world. She had never before felt herself lifted to such heights, never felt so close to such overwhelming fulfillment. Her head lolled back and forth on the hard floor, her eyes shut tight, and she turned higher and higher. She was so close, so close.

And then it stopped. Hermione's eyes flew open to find Snape rising before her. Hermione cried out in frustration, unable to find words to describe her panic. He was stopping? Now?

Snape's eyes zeroed in on Hermione's and the heat to which she was so susceptible seared into her. She watched as he removed each article of clothing he wore, one at a time. He folded each piece carefully, laying everything across the back of a chair. Despite the intense irritation his plodding pace was causing her, she said nothing, but followed each movement with her eyes. She felt as though she was going to scream, she wanted him so badly.

When all of his clothing had been removed, Snape stood over Hermione's body for what felt like an eternity. His eyes burned into hers, then trailed down her naked body and back up. It was as though he wanted to know every inch of her, to possess her completely. Hermione drank in his gaze ravenously, her lust increasing by the second.

Snape finally began to lower himself to the floor once more, again balancing his weight above her. And then, once in position, he stopped, looking deep into her eyes. Hermione looked back pleading mutely, not able to take the protracted foreplay any longer. As he continued to stare into her eyes, she whimpered and bucked her hips off the floor in an effort to reach him. But he did not move.

And then he spoke.

"Tell me you want me."

"I want you," she gasped, twisting in her fabric shackles.

"Tell me to fuck you."

"Fuck me," she whispered, her voice disappearing.

"Beg me."

"Oh, God, please, Professor, please do it now." Her voice was barely audible, she could no longer speak. But her eyes continued to plead, begging him for release. And so Snape relented.

Hermione made not a sound as Snape plunged his cock into her, her relief was so great. But he did not slow his strokes and soon she was moaning in time to their quick rhythm. She rejoiced in the fullness of feeling his cock gave her and enjoyed the sensation of her bare back grating across the coarse floor. Snape grunted with each thrust and then began to speak again.

"You answer to me. You answer only to me. Do not forget that." Hermione groaned in response and eventually gasped, "Only you." And then they were both lost to the heat of their bodies. Snape let out a choking gasp, coming, as stars simultaneously exploded in Hermione's head, blocking out her vision. Ribbons of come exploded from his cock and were buried deep in her belly. Hermione strained her arms against her tie, and arched her back from the floor. The intensity of her orgasm was something she had never experienced before and seemed to emanate from her very soul. Briefly, she wondered if she would black out. At last, her body stilled and she lay supine on the floor once again.

Snape staggered to his feet, shaking as he had following their previous encounter in the classroom. He turned away from her and faced the wall, interlacing his fingers behind his neck. After a moment, he turned back to her, picked up his wand from his desk, pointed it at her wrists and muttered, "Relashio." The tension on Hermione's wrists slackened and she pulled her arms down, feeling he ache in her muscles and noting that her tie had rubbed her wrists raw.

Snape was dressing with his back to Hermione and she stood to do the same. In silence, they pulled on their various articles of clothing, neither looking at the other. Finally, there were no clothes left and Hermione picked up her wand. She turned toward Snape, unsure of what to say or do.

"Professor—" she began, but was cut off.

"Miss Granger," said Snape, his eyes once again resting on the wall.

"Get out."


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, finally, here is Chapter 3, which will definitely be the last chapter. Thanks for all the great reviews!

* * *

The stars, which had been brilliant and sharp earlier in the evening, were fading away, each sparkling orb being extinguished one by one. The inky darkness gradually drained from the sky, leaving behind a pale, colorless dawn, a vast expanse of monochromatic bleakness left vacant for the sun. Hermione sat in her bed, the curtains open, watching the night slowly disappear. The frigid air, which betrayed the emergence of the coming winter, left the dormitory chilled, and Hermione pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She tucked her frozen toes into the hem of her nightgown and rested her head on her knees.

She had been looking out the window for so long, she didn't notice at first that the sky was lightening. Eventually, however, she realized that she could no longer see the Milky Way, its cloudy swirling masses usually so visible, suspended over the darkened grounds of Hogwarts.

Hermione was surprised to find she was disappointed the night was coming to an end. Until recently, she had preferred daylight to darkness, appreciating the glaring brilliance of the sun and the illumination it shed. She was a rational person, who dealt in facts and figures, constantly seeking understanding, searching for the truth. It was in daylight that understanding came most readily and truth was most easily discerned.

Darkness and moonlight invited mystery and ambiguity, vague notions against which Hermione generally fought. She wanted to be certain, confident and self-assured at all times, and she was least likely to demonstrate any of those virtues in the obscurity and anonymity of night.

And yet, she couldn't help but begin to appreciate the nebulousness of night. She was fully aware of the changes in herself of late. When she was younger, had she considered it, she would have believed herself to be pure. Innocent. Whether it was true or not, she was unsure, but she was certain that, whatever she had been previously, the words pure and innocent no longer described her.

She began to recognize a darkness within herself, a depth of emotion with which she had been unfamiliar until recently. While facts and figures may have been what others saw when they looked at Hermione, she was coming to understand that she was more than simply a logical creature, searching for certainty. She was more complex and less easily definable, with emotions that defied logic. What was more, she found that, at times, she didn't even want to find the logic within herself. In a way, she enjoyed the chaos and turbulence that rumbled just below the surface at all times.

And so, with her newfound self-awareness came also a fragile understanding of the draw of night. Whether it was the darkness that allowed her to know herself better, or whether her greater understanding of her own psyche led to an appreciation of darkness, she didn't know. In fact, she had begun to recognize that cause and effect were no longer clear to her. And the biggest mystery of causation to Hermione was Professor Snape.

Without a doubt, Snape was tied to her emotional and mental state, but she could not precisely pinpoint in what manner. The obvious conclusion was that Snape, with his demanding, controlling nature, was the cause of the change within her. But as such a determination was logical, the new Hermione was apt to reject it. Instead, she examined the possibility that her own actions were the cause of the transformation within her, and her relationship with her professor a byproduct of that transformation.

In the end, she supposed it didn't matter who was responsible for what. The fact remained that Hermione was having a relationship with her professor. She paused as the word entered her mind. _Relationship_. Was that really the best word to describe what she was doing with Snape? The word, to Hermione, bore a connotation of friendship, love, support, caring. What she had with Snape was…something different. It was visceral and brutal, demanding and cruel.

When Snape entered her, she felt as though she were consumed by him, made part of him. At once, she felt both a fullness and satisfaction, as well as a profound, aching, unquenchable need for more. She did not feel love, either directed toward him or coming from him. In fact, if possible, she disliked him more presently than at any other time in the history of their acquaintance.

As Hermione leaned back against the ancient headboard of her four-poster bed, she reflected on her most recent meeting with Snape. The evening had been exquisite torture, both physically and mentally. Snape had tormented her agonizingly, drawing her closer and closer to orgasm with his potent tongue and nimble fingers, only to pull away time after time. It was only upon her begging for mercy that he gave in and allowed her to come, spectacularly, as he ferociously took her on the floor of his classroom.

But even more torturous than the denial of her fulfillment was the manner in which it was finally bestowed. After her first encounter with him, she had become determined not to allow it to happen again. And, even with her mind and body at war, she had stuck resolutely to her decision. Despite her choice, however, she eventually found herself tied to his desk, writhing naked on the cold stone floor, begging him to fuck her.

She tried fruitlessly to provide her logical self with a reason for what had happened. Eventually, however, she was forced to accept the fact that a dark stranger was living within her soul, an irrational being to whom she now found herself bound.

Whether logical or not, Hermione recognized that, whatever was happening with Snape, it was not over. And not even his cold dismissal of her several hours earlier could change that.

As she had dressed, Hermione had tried to find words to say to the man before her. He had stood with his back to her, his head bowed to his chest, his fingers intertwined around the back of his neck. His posture had suggested pain to Hermione, not physical, but emotional. For the second time, she had had the fleeting suspicion that, somewhere beneath his black exterior, Snape felt something. Perhaps guilt? But his voice, as he expelled her from his presence, had betrayed no emotion. His words were smooth and calm, with just a hint of malice.

Snape's dismissal had hit Hermione like a ton of bricks. Venomous bile had risen in her throat and, momentarily, she thought she might be ill. In spite of the intense pleasure he had just provided her, she had felt degraded and used. Instantly, she had felt the urge to strike out at him, to cause him the same pain he was causing her. But she had done nothing. She had stood, frozen to the spot, staring at the back of his head, her eyes wide and her mouth gaping in shock.

It was then that Snape had whirled around, fury emanating from his very pores. "Get out!" he had yelled again, this time bellowing the words as his clenched fist came crashing down upon his desk with a deafening crack. Hermione had leapt at his furious outburst and fled the dungeon.

She had returned to the prefects' bathroom once again. She had cried, angry, spiteful tears coursing down her flushed cheeks. As she had bathed in the ornate tub, she had become aware of her heartbeat, had felt it pounding quickly, sending her boiling blood through her body. Even her fingertips and toes had a visible pulse, as she had been consumed by a rage of which she hadn't known she was capable. She hated him.

But after returning to her dormitory, as she watched the night recede, Hermione's heart slowed and her anger softened. She sat on her bed, wide awake, reflecting on the night, Snape, herself, their affair. She still felt debased and used and she imagined there wasn't much that would change that. But she also was certain that this was only the beginning of things to come.

It did not escape Hermione's notice that Snape's eruption at her just before she ran from him was, in a way, out of character for him. In the time she had spent with him, Snape was always in control. He commanded her with his eyes, his words, his touch. While his gaze could be harsh and threatening and his tone dangerous, he had never before raised his voice to her. She recalled his shaking hands each time he came into her; she pictured his defeated posture just before his outburst. She heard his fist meet the desk. It was not like him.

She pondered this crack, this tiny fissure in his otherwise flawless veneer. She wanted to know what was beneath. But, as surely as she knew that their encounters would continue, she had no doubt that Snape would do anything necessary to seal the cracks and bar her from having true access to him.

And maybe she was okay with that. Maybe she didn't need more than he was offering her. She couldn't deny the fact that, without truly knowing anything about him, about who he really was, she was attracted to him physically. And as much as the idea of breaking him down and asserting control over him appealed to her, in some ways, she was satisfied with their purely carnal relationship. It made her sick to know that she liked it when he demeaned and humbled her. She couldn't remember ever being as aroused as she was when he forced her to beg for release.

So she would return to him, knowing full well what the outcome would be. Her brain fought against her, urging her not to do it, not to give in to his silent call, the invisible force that drew her to him repeatedly. But her body sought the twisted pleasure only he could provide. And even more than her desperation to satisfy her hedonistic urges, her soul yearned to explore the dark places within her of which she was only recently aware.

Of course, the question that remained was whether, after what had occurred, Snape would want to continue their relationship. Hermione had only the slightest amount of doubt in this regard, however. Despite his incredible display of anger, she was positive that he wanted her. His desire for her was too great for him to disguise. She had felt it that evening. After she had emerged from his storeroom, as they had traded bitter words, he had dropped his guard for an instant, allowing himself to kiss her devouringly. After a brief moment, he recovered, guarding himself more carefully, and his restraint following their initial hungry embrace proved to be sustainable. But that initial kiss, and the strength with which he had grabbed and held her, belied his desire for her. Hermione bore little fear of his further rejection of her.

The room had become incrementally brighter and Hermione knew that, despite the cloudiness outside her window, the sun had risen above the horizon. Her roommates would be stirring soon and, having no desire to deal with them, she rose from her bed to prepare for the coming day. As she removed her nightgown, she winced, feeling the fabric slide over numerous abrasions covering her back as a result of her time spent on the rough-hewn dungeon floor. Like her sore wrists, she knew that the wounds could be healed magically in an instant, but she didn't want to heal them. Each time she winced in pain as one wound or another was aggravated, she was reminded of her actions. On the one hand, it upset her to remember, and made her feel dirty. But on the other, each injury was a reminder of the pleasure received simultaneously, and it aroused her. She had been disappointed when her previous injuries had begun to heal, and was, in a way, relieved to have new injuries on which to dwell.

Hermione packed up her books and made her way down to the Great Hall, knowing she would be there well before the rest of the school. Her entry into the hall proved her theory to be correct – the hall was empty. She sat down at the Gryffindor table and pulled out her Charms textbook, in an attempt to catch up on some homework. The stillness of the room was calming. She was not accustomed to being in the Great Hall alone, but quite enjoyed it. Eventually though, her peace was interrupted as the first early risers of the day made their way down for breakfast.

She helped herself to some toast and juice as she perused the pages of her textbook. As the hall became more crowded, Harry and Ron finally appeared. They were deep in conversation, reviewing the various strategies and plays they had been working on at Quidditch practice. Hermione greeted them absently and returned her attention to her book.

Her concentration didn't last long, however. Out of the corner of her eye, a familiar black figure stalked into the Great Hall. Keeping her head bent over her book, Hermione furtively lifted her eyes and followed his progress to the staff table. She watched as he poured himself tea and greeted Professor Flitwick dourly. Her eyes remained trained on him as she tracked his every movement. She wanted to see if he would behave differently or if their previous evening's encounter would show in any way.

But despite her careful eye, she was unable to discern any change in his demeanor. Gone from his face and countenance was any trace of his anger. He appeared just as he did every other morning. And the entire time she watched him, he did not glance in her direction once.

"Hermione!" came Ron's exasperated shout from across the table, and Hermione looked around to find both he and Harry looking at her with confusion and annoyance.

"Why do people have to shout your name a hundred times to get your attention anymore? And why are you staring at Snape?" asked Harry, and Hermione blushed in her realization that she had inadvertently abandoned her attempt at covert surveillance – she had been watching him openly.

Before she had a chance to come up with a reply, however, Ron interjected, "Oh, right, your detention, how'd that go? What did he make you do? Was he hard on you?"

Hermione's already-red face flushed deeper at Ron's question. For a moment, she was unable to say anything, caught somewhere between shame and a ridiculous urge to laugh. She saw Snape binding her wrists with her tie; she saw his face hovering above hers, as she told him she wanted him; she saw his impenetrable eyes burning into hers; she saw him thrust into her repeatedly. If only they knew. Finally, she managed to choke out a response.

"He made me clean the storeroom," she mumbled, focusing her attention on her half-eaten toast.

"Well, it must have been a mess because you were gone forever. We tried to wait up for you in the common room, but we got too tired around midnight and went to bed," said Harry.

Hermione was saved from responding as Ginny joined them at the table. "Morning, guys, wha– Hermione, you look awful!" Ginny exclaimed, and then immediately seemed to regret it. "Oh, I'm sorry, I don't mean that, I just meant….well, have you been sleeping?" Concern was evident on her face and in her tone. Both Harry and Ron were looking at her as well, seemingly having just noticed her fatigued state.

Hermione closed her book and packed her back as she responded vaguely, "Yeah, I'm fine, just a late night, busy…." Her voice trailed off into nothing as she stood up from the table.

"I really need to study before class. I'll see you guys later," she said, and turned away from the table before anyone could respond. As she reached the end of the table, she heard Harry's voice drift over to her.

"What's with her lately?"

Without turning back, she exited the hall quickly and made her way through the hallways and up the staircases to her first class. Arriving at her classroom, she dropped heavily into her chair and flung her head down upon her arms. She was weary and exhausted, but more than that, she was confused.

For the past few weeks, she had all but ignored her friends. Ginny was obviously concerned and, despite their initial lack of notice, she knew Harry and Ron were worried about her as well. And she missed them. They were her best friends and here she was, keeping from them the biggest secret of her life. Not that telling them was an option. She knew this was a secret she would take to her grave.

But was it worth it? Could she continue this way if it meant keeping her friends in the dark? If she continued on in as distracted a state as she had been recently, she didn't know how long they would tolerate her distance. She knew she was being unfair to them.

Hermione raised her head from her arms miserably, trying to push the thoughts from her head. She knew what the answer was, even as she argued with herself that it wasn't true. Deep down, she wanted more than just her friendships. She wanted the excitement that her actions were causing; she wanted the risk that Snape represented. If she were to end things now, the dark yearning in her soul, a sensation she had just begun to recognize and satisfy, would gnaw at her, rending her from the inside out. There was simply no turning back, not for her.

And so as students began to filter into the Charms classroom, Harry and Ron among them, Hermione resolved to be a better friend, and to at least act like herself around her friends, even if she felt like a completely different person.

It proved to be easier than she anticipated.

For the remainder of the day, Hermione focused intently in class, asking copious questions and furiously scribbling notes. During her break, she continued her attempt at tackling her overdue homework and decided to do work in the library at lunch as well. By dinner, while she was by no means caught up, she felt more in control, as though she were taking back a portion of her life. She did her very best during dinner to focus on the conversation, smiling and laughing when it seemed appropriate. She was exceptionally careful not to let her gaze wander toward the staff table, lest she forget her vow to concentrate on her friends.

That evening, she continued her battle against the rising tide of homework, holed up in a corner of the common room. She focused intently on her essays and reading, trying to recapture the confident feeling she used to enjoy as she tackled her schoolwork. Finally, long after midnight, when the common room had emptied of all other students, she finally felt as though she had turned a corner, and decided it was safe to stop working for a while and go to bed. She ponderously climbed the stairs to her dormitory and dropped into bed gratefully without bothering to remove her clothes. Just as her eyes closed, it occurred to her for the first time since that morning that Potions was the next day. But feeling too exhausted to contemplate what the day might hold, she dropped off to sleep.

Hermione entered the Potions classroom with Harry and Ron the next morning. Butterflies beat madly against the inside of her stomach, but she was careful to appear normal in front of her friends. Snape was at the front of the classroom as she took her seat, sorting through the day's ingredients. He surveyed the class as he began the lesson, his eyes skimming over Hermione just as they did everyone else. As he cast his gaze in her direction, she felt her heart jump into her throat, but he continued to move his eyes about the room without pause and she deflated.

What had she expected? That he would leap over the desk to get to her the moment she entered the room? That he would yell and scream, continuing his angry tirade from two evenings past? They were in class, before twenty other students; of course he would ignore her. And that was exactly what she wanted, she reminded herself. She could separate her life, compartmentalize. In class and with Harry and Ron, she could do her work and act normally. On her own time she could do…other things.

Recognizing that this was precisely what she needed, Hermione settled into her work, producing yet another excellent potion. When she approached the front of the room to hand it in, she made every effort to appear normal before Snape and noted that he was doing the same: their eyes did not meet, their hands did not touch. She reminded herself that, while she would have loved to have felt the electricity of his skin on hers, even if only through their fingers, their restraint was for the best.

At lunch, as she persevered in her endeavor of appearing normal to her friends, she stealthily surveyed the hall, keeping an eye out for a student messenger. Surely, he would send her a message to meet him that night? But as she dawdled after the meal, the hall emptied of students and she received no message. Dinner brought about the same result.

Confusion swirled within her that evening as she went to bed. Why had he not sent for her? Having finally determined that she wanted to see him again, it shocked her to think that he might not want to see her. She twisted and turned for several hours, chewing on her thoughts, until she finally had an epiphany. After their first encounter, it was days before she saw him again. Perhaps he thought she needed time. Perhaps he had a lot of work to do. Feeling relieved at the possibilities, she slept.

Her relief was short-lived, however. Upon entering Potions on Thursday morning, she received her grade sheet from the previous day's potion: an "E." Exceeds Expectations.

Hermione bit her lip and sank down into her chair. She stared at the mark on the paper and felt tears begin to well in her eyes. Embarrassed, she tried to wipe them away without calling attention herself. Never before had she looked forward to receiving a failing grade. But as she viewed her E, she knew that was exactly what she had been doing. He was no longer providing an excuse to call for her. He was finished with her.

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek and willed herself not to cry. Ron, who was looking extremely pleased with himself for receiving an A for once, took one look at Hermione's face and then looked down at her paper in surprise.

"Are you crying over an E? Are you insane?" Ron asked incredulously. "You are the only person I know who could get upset over an E. I guess you thought you deserved an O, huh?" he asked, only somewhat sarcastically.

"Er, right," murmured Hermione noncommittally, wanting to move on from this topic. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry and the three began to prepare their ingredients.

Over the next few days, Hermione reviewed the situation in her head again and again. She simply could not accept that he no longer wanted her. She had been so certain that it wasn't over. True, he had callously thrown her out after their last encounter, but it had seemed, upon inspection, to be a momentary, impetuous action on his part. She could see now that she had been wrong.

She attempted to look at the bright side. After all, this was a good thing. She had known all along how wrong their actions were and now she could stop doing wrong. No longer would she feel the crushing weight of shame and disgrace as she left his presence. She would not have to hide her feelings and desires from her friends, but could be normal around them again. She could chalk her actions up to youthful indiscretion and forget anything had happened.

But she didn't want to forget. At night, she lay in bed, remembering his hands and mouth on her. In the dark, she allowed herself to recall her masochistic pleasure in the pain he caused her, both physically and emotionally. As twisted as she knew it was, she didn't want to let it go.

As the days passed, however, and Snape continued to treat her as he did the rest of his students, she forced herself to ignore her emotions and suppress her arousal. She threw herself back into her schoolwork and returned to her life as it had been before her professor touched her. Until, one day, he turned her world upside-down once more.

Christmas was quickly approaching. Snow had begun falling the week before, all vestiges of autumn blown away by the bitter, bracing wind. Hagrid had decorated the Great Hall, and as always, the ambience was festive and welcoming. Hermione had reentered what she had come to recognize as her previous life, and felt as though things were becoming normal again. She planned on returning home for the holidays, longing to see her parents. Though she knew she wouldn't tell them what had happened, it would be a comfort to hear her mother's soothing voice and feel her father's welcoming arms around her.

It was her last Potions class before the break, and she was relieved that the term was nearly over. While she had achieved what she had not thought possible, namely returning to normal, attending Potions every week was still difficult. She was as attracted to her professor as ever and had to force herself not to think of him in an inappropriate manner during class. Each time he would pass by her as he made his rounds through the classroom, she would hold her breath, waiting for some form of acknowledgement from him. It never came.

During her final class, she sat idly at her desk, waiting for her potion to turn a tell-tale shade of blue before adding a pinch of her powdered scarab beetle. She noticed that Snape had begun his rounds of the classroom, making observations here and there on the contents of the cauldrons before him. He was nearing her row, and almost in spite of herself, she felt her heart begin to pound traitorously. She kept her gaze resolutely down, not wanting him to sense her agitation. She knew it didn't matter anyway, not really, since he wouldn't spare her glance.

He was walking up her aisle now, just feet away. Her blood was pounding in her ears, blocking out all other sound. Still, she kept her eyes on her potion.

He was standing next to her, leaning over to examine her cauldron's contents. She took a small breath, willing herself not to look at him. Any moment, he would pass her and she would feel the familiar combination of anxious relief and crushing disappointment. Any moment.

But he was still leaning over her cauldron. And then, he stepped closer to her, just a mere inch closer, and she felt him against her. There, against her side, disguised in his many layers of clothing, was his throbbing erection.

Her head snapped up, but she did not turn her face towards his. As he moved to take his leave of her, he mouth brushed by her ear and she caught the whisper falling lightly from his lips.

"Storeroom. Now."

Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at Ron and Harry, but they appeared to have heard and noticed nothing. Snape was already moving away from her, but she could still feel his breath on her neck. There seemed to be no doubt in his mind that she would comply with his command. For an instant, she contemplated ignoring him, but her resolve broke almost instantly. She would do whatever he demanded.

He was now seated before his desk once more. Hermione stole a quick glance around the room, but no one looked back. Everyone was working feverishly on their potions. She turned resolutely back to the front of the room and raised her hand tentatively.

Snape's gaze leveled upon her and he inquired, "Miss Granger?" His eyes, that had so studiously avoided her as of late, rested steadily on hers and she was unable to look away.

In a voice barely above a tremulous whisper, she asked, "May I be excused to the lavatory, sir?"

His eyes remained on hers for an instant more as he replied, "You may." His face and voice betrayed nothing.

Hermione stood up, no longer caring about the outcome of her potion. She made her way through the desks to the back of the room and opened the classroom door. Instead of exiting, however, she turned to face the classroom. No one paid her any attention. Except Snape. She softly closed the classroom door, and quietly edged around the back of the room, keeping as close to the shadows along the wall as possible. Finally, she reached the door to the storeroom. Still, no one paid her any mind. Snape's eyes never left hers. Cautiously, she depressed the lever on the storeroom handle and gently pulled open the door. Inch by inch, she edged the door open, until there was just enough space to allow her to pass through. She slipped inside and closed the door silently.

It was dark in the storeroom and deathly silent. She could hear her heart pounding and her breath tore from her lungs in ragged gasps. She felt light-headed. Straining to hear beyond the door, she tried to listen for footsteps, but could hear nothing but her own sounds. Was he coming?

Just as the beginning edges of panic began to settle in her chest, the door opened, throwing a shaft of golden torchlight into the space. His dark-clad figure filled the lightened opening and then all was thrown into darkness as the door closed behind him. She was instantly struck by the similarity of the situation to her dream so many weeks before. If possible, she became more turned on.

Snape wasted no time. Crossing the tiny space, he pressed her tiny body against the wall with his frame, and his mouth found hers. His kiss was possessive and greedy and she delighted in the familiarity of it. His tongue lashed out against her own and she moaned into his mouth. At the sound, she felt a sharp pinch on her breast. She sucked in her breath at the sudden pain and he pulled his mouth away from hers.

"Not a sound," he warned threateningly and brought his mouth crashing down upon her once more. A classroom full of students sat just beyond the door and she knew that silence was vital. His hands were urgently exploring her body, unbuttoning her robe. In a moment, she had his robe unbuttoned as well. With two fewer layers of clothing between them, he thrust he pelvis against hers and she fought to keep a groan from escaping her lips.

His hands found her bare thighs under her skirt and he ripped her panties down, as she pressed her hips against him, aching for contact. Then, so quickly that she wasn't sure that he hadn't used magic, he freed his pulsating member from his pants, slipped his right hand under her left knee, yanked her leg around his waist, and plunged his cock deep into her.

It was all Hermione could do to keep from screaming. It had been so long since he had been inside her. That completeness that she felt only when he filled her stole over her once again, and she surrendered to the driving rhythm of his body. As he propelled into her repeatedly, her back and head were slammed painfully into the stone wall behind her. But she withstood the pain, concentrating only on the pleasure of his cock within her and her building release.

As he drove into her again and again, she pushed her back against the wall and thrust her hips toward him, wanting him as deep within her as possible. The pleasure was intensifying and it was becoming harder and harder not to make noise. In an attempt to stem the flood of cries within her, she buried her head against his neck. His thrusts began to deepen and quicken, the length of his cock stroking deep into her pussy, withdrawing nearly all the way, then plunging forward once more, lightning fast.

Her orgasm was coming and Hermione was at a loss as to how not to make a sound. Finally, as she came, she sunk her teeth into Snape's neck, and dug her fingernails into the cloth covering his shoulders. As her waves of pleasure rolled over her, Snape erupted into her, shooting jets of come from his cock into her swollen pussy.

Hermione released her hold on his shoulders and withdrew her face from his neck, feeling shaky. Snape quickly tucked himself back into his pants and buttoned his robe. He did not look at her once as he turned to the door, pushed it open, and strode from the storeroom.

Hermione pulled her panties back on, her wetness and his come soaking them instantly. Unable to support herself any longer, she sank to the floor. She knew she had to return to the classroom, but needed a minute to compose herself. She hoped no one had noticed her absence, but knew she had been gone for mere minutes.

Finally feeling as though she were somewhat composed, she tentatively snuck a peek out at the classroom. Snape was not there. Students were still working intently on their potions; none seemed to have any clue what had just occurred in the storeroom. When she was sure no one was looking, Hermione slipped back along the darkened rear wall of the room until she reached the main door. She opened and it closed it again behind her, no longer concerned about noise. Unsteadily, she made her way back to her desk, not looking Harry or Ron in the eye.

"Well, you picked a fine time to leave," said Harry teasingly, looking disdainfully at her now-purple, and likely ruined, potion. "You'll never fix that now."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione steadied her nerves and lifted her eyes to Harry's. "You're one to talk," she replied in a mock-scornful tone. Harry's face deepened as his returned his gaze to his cauldron and its brown, smoking contents.

When class ended, Snape had still not returned to the classroom. The students muttered to one another in hushed tones, unsure as to whether they could leave without his dismissal. Hermione, however, felt no need to wait for him. She stoppered her spoiled potion, deposited it on his desk, and left the room. The remainder of the class appeared to decide that Hogwart's smartest student had made the right call, and followed suit.

Lunch had barely begun when Hermione was approached by a terrified-looking first-year, who handed her a folded piece of parchment. She felt her face burn as she accepted the note. Without answering Harry and Ron's quizzical looks, she opened the note with shaking fingers.

_Tomorrow, Midnight, my office._

It wasn't over. He wasn't done with her. Her mind was still spinning from their turbulent meeting in the storeroom just minutes before, her skin still warm from the heat of his body. This was madness. _During class_. And now an almost instantaneous demand for more. The following day was Friday; her parents were expecting her on the Hogwarts Express. She wouldn't even begin to entertain the thought. Would she?

Hermione jumped up from the table, her lunch forgotten, and made a beeline for the door.

"Hey! Where are you going?" called Ron, to which she replied hurriedly, "Owlery." She had to write her parents.

Christmas break passed by in a haze of studying, sleep, and Snape. At all hours, he found a way to call her, and she never resisted, never denied him. They met all over the school, in places she would never have considered, taking full advantage of the lack of students. It was as though he was unstoppable, with unending endurance and self-possession, pleasuring her in ways she had never dreamed possible. At times, he was rough and cruel, punishing her in an almost brutal fashion as he pummeled her with his throbbing cock, while his hands seized and twisted her tender breasts and clutched her body. Their hours together would leave her sore and exhausted, with barely enough energy to summon her well-worn disgust for herself.

At other times, he would be slow and deliberate, exacting every ounce of gratification from her tortured body. The mere thought of his tongue sent shivers down her spine, knowing both the wondrous heights to which it could bring her, as well as the intolerable agony it could inflict upon her. And when he would finally deign to satisfy her fully, the glory of her climax was absolute and astounding.

But never, in any of their illicit meetings throughout the school grounds, did he touch her in a way she would describe as loving or tender. And never did he allow her to dictate the terms of their relationship. She was at his mercy. These were his unspoken terms and she was fully aware that she was powerless to alter the situation.

Classes resumed in January, but the New Year had little effect on their clandestine affair. Though their meeting places became somewhat more concealed, they were only marginally less conspicuous. But Hermione didn't care. She existed merely for the heat of his touch, the burn of his tongue, and the searing fire of his orgasm within her. The rest of her world fell to the sidelines, a hazy daydream, to be endured with impatience until her next stolen moment with him.

As the peak of winter descended gradually into the grey, gloomy, damp days of March, Hermione once again found herself bent over her professor's desk, his fingers entwined in her mop of hair. As he plunged into her with his usual stamina, Hermione grunted in rhythm with his thrusts. Her need for him to complete her and transform her had become so great, she felt as though she had fallen into the clutches of addiction. Even in the throes of ecstasy, as each wave of orgasmic bliss would subsume her body, she would anticipate her coming descent into despair as she awaited his touch once more. And though Snape continued to demand her attention almost continually, it was no longer enough.

For a moment, while he ravished her, she felt herself leave her body and she saw herself truly for the first time in months. She was thinner than she had been at the year's start, no longer interested in eating more than was necessary to keep up her energy. Her body was covered in bruises, bumps, and bite marks, constant reminders of his claim over her. Her face, though contorted in pleasure, was drawn, and dark circles ringed her eyes.

But more than the physical marks upon her body, visible now to her was the injury to her soul. Her life was changed, she could see now, irrevocably. She had allowed herself to drift from her friends, and after a while, they didn't fight to pull her back. Her grades had remained strong, but she no longer derived any enjoyment from her studies. She remained silent in classes, attending dutifully and departing having contributed nothing. Her letters to her parents had long since devolved into a line here or there, dashed off every few weeks. Her parents' replies were bewildered and hurt, but she didn't acknowledge it.

Something had to give. But how to break away from this man…it didn't seem she could survive such devastation.

For several days, she mulled over her thoughts, contemplating whether she had the strength to sever her ties with him. She was still considering her situation when, one afternoon, as she walked through a crowded hall on the fifth floor, an unseen hand gripped her elbow and steered her into an unused classroom.

The room was musty and dirty, but quiet. She perched on the edge of a desk while Snape shut the door behind him. And there they waited for several tense moments as the sounds of the students in the hallway receded. Snape's eyes focused in on hers, and she felt her familiar arousal stealing over her. She looked deep into his eyes, by this time more familiar to her than her own, but at the same time, as unknowable as ever.

Finally, only silence could be heard in the adjoining hallway and Snape moved toward her. She reached her arms up to twine them around his neck, but he held them to her sides. She attempted to move her mouth toward his for a kiss, but again, he restrained her and pulled his head away. She surveyed him wonderingly for a moment, until he placed his hands on her shoulders and shoved her roughly to her knees.

_So this is how it will be today_, she thought to herself, sliding her hands up the front of his open robe and seeking the fly of his pants. Though she was slightly annoyed that he had refused to kiss her, her anticipation for what was to come began to build within her. She liked it when he was rough with her, taking her violently over a desk, or callously against a wall.

Teasingly, she trailed her fingertips lightly over the bulge in his pants. She undid his fly and gently slid her hand into his underwear. Grasping the band of his underwear in both hands, she slowly slipped the waist lower and lower, until his erect cock was bent nearly straight. Finally, the fabric released its hold and his cock sprung up from his pants sharply. As it slapped against his stomach, Snape let out a hiss and moved closer to Hermione a fraction of an inch.

Beginning just above his knees, she ran her hands up his thighs and allowed one hand to encircle his cock. With her other hand, she trailed her fingers up and down its sides, coaxing it to its full hardness. Tentatively, she placed the tip of her tongue at the base, and slowly ran it up the underside. She licked it repeatedly, like a popsicle, running her tongue up and down each side. She cupped his velvety head with her tongue and then swirled it around.

For a moment, she withdrew her head from his wet cock, allowing the cool air to encircle it. Then, with one swift movement, she wrapped her hands around his base and plunged her hot mouth onto him, feeling his warm flesh slide against her tongue into the back of her throat. He let out a groan of satisfaction as she took him, and allowed his head to fall back with fulfillment.

Hermione slid her head back, sucking briefly on the tip of Snape's cock, then pushed her head down once more. With her hands at his base, she did not quite take his entire length, but instead, gradually rotated her hands around his increasing wet cock. Eventually, as she lightly twisted her hands around him, she began to bob her head rhythmically. With each pulse of his hardness in her throat, her pussy, still covered by her panties, grew wetter, and her clit became more engorged. She longed to feel the pressure of his tongue on her swollen clit and the thought helped her to redouble her efforts on his cock.

Snape was emitting soft moans with each pulse of her head and he reached down for her head, twisting his fingers into her bushy hair. Almost gently at first, he applied slight pressure to the back of her head, forcing her to take a fraction more of the length of his cock into her throat. She feared that if she took too much, she would gag, but Snape seemed not to care. With each dip of her head, he applied just a bit more pressure and Hermione did her best to withstand it.

Snape was getting closer to climax, she could tell, and he was becoming more aggressive. Now, as he rhythmically drew her head farther onto him, he also began to buck his hips, thrusting his cock into her mouth. Hermione knew she would gag in a moment, and placing her palms against his thighs, she pushed hard against him, withdrawing her mouth. Snape turned his face downward toward hers as she backed away, his black eyes boring into her own from above.

Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her lips around his cock once more and continued to service him. This time, as his thrusts became more powerful, she was prepared. His cock entered her throat, and she felt herself begin to gag. But rather than allowing him to withdraw again, she kept her head in place and swallowed hard, pulling his entire cock as far into her throat as possible.

A choking groan came forth from Snape's lips and he twined his fingers into her hair once more, gripping her head tightly. He picked up the rhythm again, sliding his cock down her throat, gasping at the sensation each time she took him fully. He was pumping faster now, and she knew he would come at any moment. Seeking to aid his climax, with her left hand, she gently began to massage his balls, while with her right hand, she slid her fingers between his legs.

Gently, she pried apart his upper thighs until her index and middle fingers found his sensitive patch behind his balls. He jumped as her fingers made contact and she caressed the area lightly. He continued to stroke into her and she felt him harden marginally within her mouth.

Finally, with one last stroke, she simultaneously gripped his balls, swallowed the head of his cock, and massaged his sensitive spot. The effect was instantaneous. Snape let forth a strangled cry and she felt his balls tighten in her hand, as his come burst from him and flowed down her throat. She took every drop, sucking him dry. She licked his slowly softening cock until no come remained and then released her hold on his body.

Snape's eyes were closed tight and his whole body shook as he collapsed against the desk behind him. Hermione was aroused and was eagerly awaiting his reciprocating touch. She sat back onto her heels, trying to suppress the pain in her knees. Before her, Snape appeared to be gathering his wits about him. He stood stock still for a moment, then began to button his robe, not bothering with his pants.

Hermione watched him, confused. His eyes did not meet hers as his trembling fingers fastened the final button on his robe. Without a word or a touch, he strode out of the classroom, banging the door shut behind him.

She was numb with shock. He had left her. He had used her and he had left her. Never in their time together had he ever failed to gratify her. As terrible and cruel as his treatment of her, both physically and emotionally, could be, he had never taken pleasure from her without bestowing it as well. When he was rough and demanding, it excited her, and she came even more quickly than usual. But even at his worst, her satisfaction had always been assured.

She knew now, that it was over. She didn't have to wonder about herself any longer. No matter how urgent the call, how great her need, she would not go to him again. After all of these months, he had finally found a way to defile her, to make her feel that she could not recover.

Bitter tears stung at her eyes. Emotions welled up within her and she was powerless to stop them. Finally, the dam burst and she crumpled to the floor, sobbing with both pain and relief. She knew that she could never return to the person she was before. Months of living under the shadow of him had tainted her irreparably. But the darkness within her had been let out as well, and there was no way to recapture it. She cried as she thought of the people she had lost, the innocence she had given up to him. For what? For him to take what he wanted and leave her in shambles? Regret and remorse flooded her body.

Hermione remained on the floor for minutes or hours; she wasn't sure how long. Eventually, though, her sobs subsided, leaving her with a tear-stained, blotchy face and a mild case of the hiccups. Her release of emotion had left her slightly calmer, and she took a deep breath and sat up.

Beneath it all, the pain and humiliation, she felt the slimmest ray of hope shine through. She was free. It was over. She could walk away from this now. Maybe she wouldn't be able to rejoin her old life, but she could make amends and put the past behind her.

These past months, she had allowed her imagination to run away with her. What was it she had felt for her professor? Lust, certainly. And perhaps obsession. But she hadn't loved him. She had needed him. So what was it she had expected from him in return? It finally dawned on Hermione that, when she got right down to it, she had wanted him to need her more than she needed him. Maybe she even wanted him to love her. But this day had proven, once and for all, that he had no true feelings for her, nothing beyond his desire for her physically.

She climbed heavily to her feet and departed the musty classroom. The hallway was still empty and from floors below, she could hear the distant clinking of cutlery on plates in the Great Hall. It was dinner time. Hermione, however, headed straight for Gryffindor Tower, thinking only of her bed.

During her next Potions class, Snape acted exactly as he had during all of their lessons, as though she were any other student. As though she were the Hermione of old, the Hermione who hadn't slept with her professor and given up the life she loved. Snape seemed no different than usual, ignoring her with his typical arrogance, as he did in every other lesson. She, however, made no pretense of acting as though everything was normal. It occurred to her that she had not known normal for most of the school year. Hostility swelled within her and she glared at him openly through the entire period. If he noticed, however, he didn't let on.

That afternoon, Snape sent for her. They had long since abandoned the use of other students as a means of relaying messages, for their meetings were much too frequent and would have caused suspicion. Instead, they used her galleon coin system, the one she had ingeniously developed for Dumbledore's Army. While she ate her soup in the Great Hall, she felt the coin burn against her leg through the pocket of her skirt. But she didn't bother to pull it out of her pocket. She didn't care when or where he wanted to meet her; she had no interest in acknowledging his demands any longer.

For a period of several days, Snape attempted to contact Hermione frequently through their coins, to no avail. She ignored him consistently, and eventually placed her coin in the bottom of her trunk, in order to clear him from her mind. Her grades in Potions plummeted, though whether it was from his deliberate failing of her, or her lack of trying, she wasn't sure.

The dreary late winter days finally rolled into spring, bringing warmer air and the scent of flowers through the tired halls of Hogwarts. A buzz began to circulate among the students as they collectively anticipated the coming summer. Fifth- and seventh-year students, however, still looked as though the winter clouds were following them, as they prepared for their O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams, respectively. Hermione, for one, was grateful for the distraction, and plunged headlong into her studying. She was so busy studying for her N.E.W.T.s that she failed to appreciate the fact that, not long after exams, she would graduate.

On some days, she felt as though she had been at Hogwarts forever, and she couldn't wait to be free, to begin to explore the world, to grow up. But on other days, it felt as though she had just arrived in the Great Hall, wondering into which house she would be sorted. When she remembered those early days, the days of her youth and innocence with Harry and Ron, her heart ached. Though she had slowly made her way back into the fold of their friendship, it was fragile and tentative, as though they didn't trust her. Not that she felt she deserved their trust. But she sorely missed what they had once had and bitterly regretted giving it up.

As the N.E.W.T.s crept ever closer, Hermione immersed herself in her studies. However, she couldn't help but, once in a while, take note of Snape. His demeanor was as sullen as ever, and she knew most students couldn't detect a change within him, except perhaps to note that he was even harsher in grading and reprimanding than before. But Hermione was, by this point, an expert in gauging his moods. Even if she couldn't exactly identify his emotions, she could place them in a range, relative to his other moods.

And so she was able to note the darkness of his temperament, even darker than usual. He was angry with her, of that she was certain. She had taken from him the ultimate control he had previously commanded. He no longer acknowledged her in class, but simply ignored her altogether. When she talked to Ron or Harry during the lesson, he didn't bother to silence her, and she never received threats of detention. It was as though he could no longer see or hear her at all. The only way in which she knew she had affected him was in his caustic interaction with other students.

Finally, N.E.W.T.s ended, classes finished, and Hermione packed her trunk for the last time. The leaving feast would take place that evening, and she would depart on the Hogwarts Express at precisely 11:00 a.m. the following day. Hermione sat down on top of her nearly-full trunk and surveyed her room. The thought that she would not return to her dormitory again, that this would be her last night in her four-poster bed, seemed nonsensical to her. This was her home. Despite the roller coaster of a year she had had, she never stopped feeling like she belonged to Hogwarts.

When Hermione joined the rest of the students in the Great Hall for the feast that evening, her eyes were drawn immediately to the empty seat at the staff table. He hadn't come. As hurt as she had been by him, and as much as she had forced herself to believe that their relationship had come to an end, it seemed a little bittersweet not to see him there on her last night. Was it because of her that he stayed away, she wondered?

She tried to enjoy the magnificent banquet with the rest of the school, but as the evening progressed, she found that the lack of his presence disturbed her more than she would have anticipated. At the conclusion of dinner, as hundreds of students rose from the house tables and ambled back to their respective dormitories, Hermione slipped down the dungeon steps behind the last of the Slytherins, being careful not to be spied.

She attempted his office first, but found it empty. Disappointed, she gazed around the room for a moment, remembering some of their stolen moments in there. She shivered a bit, remembering how much it disturbed her to look around during sex, seeing various unidentifiable objects floating in jars.

She made her way down the hallway to Snape's classroom and stood before the door, undecidedly. She was fairly sure he was inside. Ultimately, she realized that she couldn't remain in the hallway all night and she opened the classroom door.

At first, the room appeared to be empty. Potion ingredients were spread across the tops of the students' desks, however, and a moment after she entered, Snape emerged directly across the room, exiting the storeroom with a dusty box in his arms. He froze as he saw her, coming to a dead stop mid-stride.

For a long moment, they stared at one another, neither one saying a word. She looked him over once more. She knew his physical appearance inside and out, knew every inch of his body. But she didn't know him.

Though she didn't know what she wanted to say, Hermione opened her mouth and took a breath. But before she could utter a word, Snape cut her off.

"What do you want?" he asked brusquely, returning to his potion ingredients. He placed the box on the nearest desk and began to empty it of its contents. She watched what he was doing with interest.

"What are you doing?" she asked, curious.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he sneered, returning to the storeroom for another box. "I'm cleaning the storeroom."

"But I…" she began, then trailed off. She was going to remind him that she had cleaned the storeroom before Christmas, but realized too late that she didn't want to talk about that particular evening.

"For your information," he spat, acknowledging her unasked question, "your organization of the storeroom was unacceptable. Tonight was my first opportunity to rectify the disorder you caused."

Hermione chose to ignore his insult with regard to her organizational skills. No matter what he said now, he had been impressed with the job she had done. Instead, she addressed another matter.

"Tonight? Tonight was the first opportunity? Tonight was the leaving feast. Why couldn't it have been tomorrow?" She watched him carefully as his lip curled in response to her question.

"And why on earth would I attend the leaving feast? Was my presence requested?" he asked in a mocking tone.

"I would have liked for you to be there," she replied meekly, not looking at him directly.

Snape scoffed in return, "Oh yes, you have avoided me; you have ignored my requests to see you for months, but you would have liked for me to attend. I see." Hearing the bitterness in his voice, Hermione gained a sudden understanding of why he was reorganizing the storeroom: he was cleaning out all traces of her. They were both silent for a moment, until his tired voice sounded once again.

"What do you want, Miss Granger? Why are you here?" She looked up at his question and found his eyes upon her. He seemed to be waiting for a response. She met his gaze, but was unable to answer him for a moment. Finally, she began to stammer, "I…I just thought…"

"You just thought what?" came his sharp reply. Hermione could offer nothing in return and she sighed in frustration. Breaking their eye contact, she dropped her head resignedly.

"Get out of my sight." He turned away from her and began to remove more items from the storeroom. She felt a slight sense of déjà vu at his words, but also sensed a difference in his tone. The first time he had dismissed her, the words had been spoken in anger, whereas this time, they felt different…there wasn't the same heat. She wasn't sure why.

She had nothing to say to him. Her emotions tumbled around within her, but she could not articulate exactly what it was she was feeling. Acknowledging her failure, she took one last look at his figure in the doorway to the storeroom and left the room.

Once in the hallway, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Something was different but she couldn't put her finger on precisely what. He had sounded almost defeated as he spoke to her. She stood before the dungeon classroom door for another full minute, deliberating over what to do. Finally, her need to understand overwhelmed her desire to put everything behind her, and she opened the door to the classroom once more.

Snape was sitting at one of the desks near the storeroom. His elbows rested on the desk surface and he held his face in his hands. He was trembling. At the sound of the door opening, he raised his head, his eyes locking onto hers.

For the first time, his eyes were transparent, wide-open windows to his soul. In one glance, she read everything – his pain, his shame, his doubts, his desires. Even with that first glimpse, she knew that the anguish she spied in his eyes would haunt her for years to come. She could see his internal struggle, his war with himself, as he tried desperately to shut her out, while simultaneously yearning to show her all. Though he said not a word, his eyes pleaded with her to grant him mercy, to turn around and walk away and leave him with his misery.

What had she done to this man? He was tormented and broken, in a state of utter distress. She felt an overwhelming desire to be near him and to comfort him. But as she took a step forward, he leapt from his chair as though having received a shock. His eyes remained locked on hers, but he backed up a few steps, his back meeting the wall behind him. She continued to move forward, closing the distance between them. His trembling had not lessened and as she reached her hand out, he began to shake violently.

Their hands met, his hesitant, hers confident, and she reached her other arm around his neck. Snaking her fingers into his hair, she pulled his head gently forward and softly pressed her lips to his. In response, she felt his tense body release slightly and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer.

She could feel his misery oozing from every inch of his body and she pressed closer to him, trying to absorb some of the pain for him. He responded to her unspoken offer of intimacy, deepening their kiss, accepting her tongue as it sought entrance into his mouth. Hermione kissed him passionately, with more feeling in the single embrace than had existed between them all year.

She ran her hands down the front of his quaking chest and slid his robe off his shoulders. With infinite care, she unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, skimming her hands tenderly over his bare skin. When she pressed against him again, she could feel his erection through his pants. Her desire for him was growing along with her compassion. After all this time, she found a stranger before her.

She disentangled herself from him and took a reluctant step back. But her eyes remained locked on his as she deftly removed all of her clothing and tossed it aside. He watched her every move, his dark eyes still aching, but now communicating his desire as well. She made a move toward him resume their embrace, while unbuttoning his pants and drawing them to the floor. Upon dispensing with the fabric impediments between them, they reached for each other, his arms encircling her waist, hers wrapping around his neck. The hesitancy of their previous kiss disappeared, but the balance of passion and sweetness remained.

Hermione leaned closer to Snape, his back against the stone wall. Upon feeling the pressure, he slid down the wall, bringing her with him, until he sat upon the floor, Hermione astride him. Her head now above his, she lowered her mouth to his, their tongues becoming inextricably intertwined once again. His hands kneaded the small of her back, bringing her closer to him. He was fully hard, his erection hot against her inner thigh.

As her need for him grew, she tried to sort out her emotions. He was presenting a whole new face to her, another facet of his complex personality, one that she suspected represented a much truer depiction of who he really was. His fingers that trailed over her body and held her tenderly yet possessively spoke volumes, communicating his longing for her as well as his tortured past.

But Snape's sudden display of emotion, the manifestation of his obscure heart, was not the only revelation to Hermione. She was confounded by her own empathy for him, this man she had previously so despised, even during their most carnal and lascivious acts. She recognized in him his craving for affection and compassion, and wanted nothing more than to provide security for him. A rush of tenderness encompassed her, drawing her to him but closer still.

Snape was now holding her to him delicately, as though he sought a tighter embrace but feared harming her or, perhaps, her sympathy for him. And then, almost against his will, he softly bucked his hips up off the floor, straining toward her. Hermione pulled back a bit, looking into his eyes with surprise. He usually demonstrated such self-possession with her, able to restrain himself for indefinite periods of time. But as she gazed into his face and his haunted eyes, she saw all attempts at restraint on his part gone, replaced by pure need and want.

Of course, it occurred to her, this was not a usual situation. Never before had he allowed her such liberty in their relationship or so willingly stepped back from the sadistic hold he had over her, both physically and psychologically. Her thoughts, however, were penetrated by Snape's normally-silky voice, which was now hoarse and raspy with emotion.

"Hermione."

Her head snapped up sharply at her name and she met his eyes. No more words were needed. Within his eyes, she could read plainly his plea to her to take him, finally, and grant him some relief.

At once, she was thrown back in time, to a late fall night when she had gone to him the first time, seeking to establish control. But she had lost to him, from that very first night. She had never been a worthy opponent. And now, here he was, handing to her the one thing she had ever wanted from him, to do with as she pleased. His eyes remained trained on hers, supplicating and sorrowful.

"Please," came his rasping voice once more, and with the utmost tenderness, he reached up a trembling hand and placed it upon her cheek, stroking it once.

And with his caress, her desire to win and to control, to gain power over him, washed away. The game between them came to an end and all pretense disappeared. Now, in this moment, it was the two of them. She held a power over him, but not one of control. Her power now was to absolve him of his past, to make him new and whole. And so, with her arms around him protectively, and her eyes firmly on his, she sank down upon him.

Snape's eyes closed briefly as he let out a low cry of satisfaction, but he opened them again, reconnecting their intense gaze as Hermione slowly began to ride him with a gentle, probing rhythm. His hips lifted off the floor in time with her, and she descended deeper and deeper to meet his thrusts. His hands, which had been cupped under her, traversed her thighs, hips, stomach and chest, wandering ceaselessly over her body. She moaned at his touch and arched her back as she sank down, taking him deeper. This time, rather than the never-ending feeling of ascent, she felt as though she were falling, lower and lower, into the center of the Earth.

She began to ride him faster, clenching him within her at each thrust. She could feel her orgasm building within her, tantalizingly close. But even as she felt her climax just beyond her reach, Snape let out a throaty, gut-wrenching groan, and came inside her, warming her not unpleasantly. Momentarily, a crushing disappointment settled upon her. Not once in their months together had she failed to climax, with the exception of their disastrous final meeting in the empty fifth-floor classroom.

But before she had even a few seconds to ruminate on her frustration, Snape sank against her body and he buried his head in the crook of her neck. His chest was heaving and dry, seemingly-involuntary sobs were emitting from his throat.

"Hermione…Hermione…I'm sorry," he managed to choke into her neck before his power of speech dissolved and he began to cry on her shoulder. She felt his hot tears fall onto her bare skin and her heart broke for him. She slid her arms around him and gently stroked his smooth, pale back with one hand and his hair with the other. Quietly, as he sobbed convulsively against her, she murmured soothingly into his ear and rocked him unhurriedly.

Eventually, his sobs subsided and he sighed, a sound that emanated from his depths of his soul.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, hoarsely, into her neck. In response, she lifted his head from neck and kissed him, a light, ethereal kiss. When she broke away from their delicate embrace, she replied, "I'm sorry too."

He felt, to her, somehow lighter. While she imagined that he would never be what she would consider to be a happy person, she sensed a change within him. When he finally lifted his eyes to meet hers, they were no longer the open portals to his soul that she had found earlier, nor were they the inscrutable, enigmatic puzzles she had grown accustomed to over their months together. Instead, what she found was a sadness, a melancholy peace.

Hermione arose from the floor and wrapped her robe around her body, noticing for the first time the chilly dungeon air. Snape made no effort to rise, but remained slumped against the wall, watching her mutely. She picked up his robe and wrapped it around his shoulders. As she moved to pull away from him and stand once more, however, he caught her arm and pulled her closer once more. With is grip tight on her arm, she looked into his dark eyes. She felt it as a current passed between them, an acknowledgment of all that had occurred. She pulled her arm gently from his grasp and straightened up. Without a word or a backward glance, she tranquilly crossed the classroom and departed the dungeon for the last time.

The next morning dawned hazy and warm, a perfect early summer day. Students bounded from the school towards Hogsmeade Station, eager to begin their vacations. Hermione, however, proceeded toward the station with more trepidation, unsure of how exactly to feel about departing Hogwarts once and for all. Even without the events of her seventh year, leaving school would have been difficult, she knew. But with everything that had transpired with Professor Snape, especially with the revelations of the night before, she was uneasy and out of sorts.

Once at the station, Hermione located Harry and Ron's compartment and loaded her luggage onto the Hogwarts Express. A tentative reconciliation had been struck between them, with much still left unsaid. While she knew she would never tell them about Snape, she was well aware that she needed to somehow address her actions with them and find some way to make amends. And a several-hour train ride seemed like as good a time as any to start.

But for now, as they first settled into their seats on the train, no one spoke. Hermione gazed out the window and rested her forehead against the warm glass sadly. A part of her wished that she had attempted to find Snape one more time that morning. There was so much more she would have liked to have said to him, so much more she would have like to have asked. But she was leaving, on her irrevocable path that would lead her away from him and toward her own future. It was too late.

The steam of the engine billowed around the train and stragglers jumped aboard, lugging heavy trunks and animal cages with them. And then, as the train's whistle blew, through the swirling steam, a glimpse of black robe appeared, near the end of the platform. Then the steam partially cleared and Hermione saw him. He stood far back from the train, where most would not notice him, hanging in the shadows. The warm breeze whipped his robes around his legs, but he stood otherwise motionless. As the train leapt forward with a lurch, their eyes met and held. The train lurched again and then began to glide away from the platform. Hermione raised her hand to the bottom of the glass and placed her palm and fingers flat upon it, her gaze still on him. As the train cleared the platform, he inclined his head slightly in a nod, and then he was behind her, out of sight, as the train sped away.


End file.
